Unsinkable
by miss-terra-incognita
Summary: Victor is a wealthy heir with a lonely soul. Yuuri is a poor dancer with a tender heart. The deck of the Titanic might be a very romantic place to meet your one true love, but it's not exactly a fortuitous one.
1. Prologue: Ghost Ships

_Life is short_  
 _And pleasures few_  
 _And holed the ship_  
 _And drowned the crew_  
 _But o! But o!_  
 _How very blue_  
 _the sea is._

-Clive Barker

* * *

The helicopter turns up not long after the photograph is found. They don't get much warning, really. Just a radio transmission from the Coast Guard and a few confusing snatches from dispatch. It's all very rushed, and it feels a little like an invasion.

Otabek doesn't bat an eye, of course. Chaos has never bothered him. The other scientists on his team are running around like headless chickens, frantic to make preparations and secure the vessel before all hell breaks loose.

The helicopter touches down gently. When the door is flung open, Otabek understands why.

The man who steps out isn't ancient, exactly. He's definitely old, but there's a kind of wry humor in his expression that belies the lines on his face. A much younger man hops out behind him, blonde hair tossed by the wind off the rotors, offering his arm and rolling his eyes when it's refused. An old routine, then.

The old man moves with a steady inevitability, coming to a stop in front of Otabek.

"I'd like to see my picture," he says, and his eyes gleam.

* * *

The man in the photograph is young. Handsomely-dressed. His eyes are laughing, and he's reaching after someone who seems to have just ducked out of view.

"He always was camera-shy," Victor explains. "I never knew why."

"And this photo," Otabek says, his voice low but insistent, "It really is of you? You were a passenger on the Titanic?"

"Mm." Victor nods. "A very long time ago."

The younger man, Victor's son, watches Otabek with obvious distrust. He can feel that green stare on the back of his neck even when he turns away.

"I don't suppose you'd know anything about the necklace, then? It was supposed to be in that safe. Every record indicated that it would be."

"Of course I do," Victor says with a light chuckle. He points to the photograph, floating just under the surface of the preservative. "It's right there." He winks at Otabek. "In my pocket."

Otabek's eyes flash with interest. "Really."

"Oh, yes. But before we get into that, I hear you have some footage of the ship. I'd like to see it."

JJ interrupts then, because interrupting is what JJ does best. "Right this way! It's not a bad set-up, if I do say so myself."

The trick, Otabek thinks privately, would be getting JJ to stop saying so.

They're led over to the multi-screen array, where various moving shots of the ship's carcass are displayed for analysis. JJ is talking at a million miles a minute, but the expression on Victor's face turns almost immediately distant. His son watches him watch the screens, eyes full of something Otabek can't quite identify.

Victor steps forward slowly. Brushes his hand across a screen.

"There," he says softly. "That's where I met him."

The room goes deadly silent. The other scientists have all turned their attention to the old man silhouetted by the screens, his eyes full of unknowable ghosts.

Otabek wants to ask. And maybe Victor is a bit of a mind-reader, because he smiles gently and says, "Ask your question, young man. I'm not so young that I can afford to waste time."

Victor's son meets Otabek's eyes. Dares him, without a word.

Otabek takes a deep breath.

"Met who?"

* * *

 **Notes:** Enjoying this fic? Would you rather listen to it in audio format? You can find the podfic version of Unsinkable by deleting the spaces and replacing "dot" with "." in the following address:

archiveofourown dot org/ works/ 10491060/ chapters/ 23143011


	2. Precipice

**Summary:** The edge of a cruise ship railing is a bad place for an epiphany. It's a worse place for a meet-cute.

* * *

It looks like a much longer fall, Victor thinks, when you're on the other side of the railing. It hadn't looked so bad before-a moment of weightlessness, and then nothing-but now…

He swallows hard. Closes his eyes. He can feel the weight of the necklace in his pocket, dragging him down. His fingers clench on the rail, then slowly-

"Don't!"

Victor almost lets go out of sheer surprise, scrabbling for purchase on the slick metal and breathing raggedly as he stares down at the churning water.

"Why shouldn't I?" he asks the air, his words carried on a cloud of vapor. Whoever this stranger is, this is none of their business. "This isn't your concern. Leave me alone."

"I can't." It's a man. Out of breath, like he's been running. His voice is rushed and panicked. "I can't just leave you here. It's freezing out, you- What if you slip?"

"Slip?" Victor laughs, and it's a hollow thing. So many of his laughs are, these days. "I'm trying to kill myself, and you're worried I'm going to slip?"

For a moment the stranger doesn't respond. Victor wonders if he's done the sensible thing and walked away, but then, "Why are you trying to kill yourself?"

The man's tone is level now. Calm.

"I don't think that's any of your concern either," Victor replies, tone clipped.

Suddenly there's a warm hand covering his icy one. Victor's breath catches in his throat.

"I'm here," the man tells him softly. "So it's my concern."

The words are heavy with meaning, both obvious and subtle. There's a kind of terrifying sincerity to them, as though this stranger has clung to his own metaphorical railings before.

The sea yawns black and deep beneath him. The sight makes him sway, and his feet lose their bracing. He tips, and feels the empty air, and pulls in a lungful of air so cold it burns-

Strong arms wrap around his waist tight enough to push that breath back out of him, and Victor hears a grunt of effort over the roar of the engines. He clings to those arms as they haul him back, up and over the railing, and doesn't let go even as he and the stranger drop to the deck together in a wheezing heap.

His rescuer is the first to recover. He leans over Victor, eyes full of deep concern, and the breath leaves Victor again.

Those eyes are as deep and dark as the ocean, he thinks vaguely, his vision blurring. And then, this man saved my life.

"Are you all right?"

"Who are you?"

The man blinks owlishly through lopsided glasses, tilting his head to one side. He leans back, seemingly of the opinion that if Victor has enough presence of mind to ask questions like that he's obviously not on the verge of death.

Anymore.

"I- I don't see why-"

"I have to know." Victor sits up, following the stranger with his eyes. "Who are you? What family?"

It's a common enough question in Victor's set. But the sound of it sends the stranger lurching to his feet, eyes shifting uncomfortably, avoiding Victor's gaze.

"I, um." He swallows. "It's not important. If you're all right…"

Victor stands, a little unsteadily. He finds his footing soon enough though, and steps toward his enigmatic rescuer. "Please-"

The man is fast, Victor thinks. And graceful. He's never seen anyone flee so quickly, vanishing down a nearby corridor without so much as a sound.

And then, quite suddenly, Victor is alone again. Just like before. Alone with his thoughts, and the horrible certainty of his inescapable future, and the cold darkness of the night.

But this time, he thinks, someone has given him a lamp.

* * *

 **Notes:** Terrible balance for an untapped figure skating talent.

A very, very special thank you to the crazy-talented leapinglisa who surprised me with her absolutely gorgeous art for this chapter. Check out her Tumblr, she's one baller chick! You can find her drawings for this chapter by deleting the spaces and replacing "dot" with "." in the following addresses:

leapinglisa dot tumblr dot com/post/159817466394/ok-peeps-listen-up-this-is-like-the-first-piece

leapinglisa dot tumblr dot com/post/160005232479/i-cant-just-leave-you-here-its-freezing-out

I've written a lot of historically-inspired pieces in the past, but this is my first Titanic AU. It's kind of surreal to know exactly when and where everything in your story happens, because usually there's a lot of intentional vagueness.

This chapter takes place on April 11, 1912, at 11:40 PM just off the coast of Queenstown, Ireland, on the First Class Promenade of the RMS Titanic.


	3. No Stone Unturned

**Summary:** Victor has forgotten a tenet that every young lady lives by: always get the gentleman's name and address.

* * *

"Face facts," Chris says with a wave of his hand that attempts to encompass the entire ship and all her passengers, "He was a ghost. You'll never find him, because he simply doesn't exist."

"He was real," Victor insists stubbornly, not sparing a glance at Chris and knowing he'll annoy him more that way. "He was real, and he has to be around here somewhere."

They're on the sun deck, located on one of the upper floors of the first class area. Chris is draped rather scandalously across a lounge chair in a bathing suit that, if one were feeling generous, could possibly be described as 'very French'. Victor, who isn't feeling generous at all, thinks it's tacky and has told him so several times.

"It's not like he can just wander off," Victor continues, chin in his hand where he leans heavily against the railing. "We're on a boat in the middle of the Atlantic. What's he going to do, swim?"

"To get away from you?" Chris snatches a drink off a passing tray. "Perish the thought."

"I just don't understand it." It's best, Victor knows, just to pretend Chris hasn't spoken. Acknowledging him only encourages him. "I've searched all of first class. I think I've met every single member of my family's social circle three times at least. I've been forced to have four separate conversations with Lilia Baranovskaya, who terrifies me beyond all reason. How can he possibly continue to elude me?"

Music starts up on one of the lower decks, drawing Victor's idle eye. It's a steerage deck, he thinks. A few passengers have begun to dance and he watches them, envious of the carefree way they take up each other's hands.

"You still haven't explained to me how you managed to topple over the railing," Chris points out. "They're tall railings. You can't just-"

But Victor isn't listening. Because there he is, his very own mysterious savior, helping a little boy keep his balance as he spins chaotically to the jubilant music.

He doesn't wait around to explain himself to Chris. Besides, the Switzer is pretty deep in his champagne and any explanation will just have to be repeated later. So he turns and dashes down a fore staircase, sliding on the handrails for most of it. He upsets an armful of towels being carefully shepherded up to the sun deck by a harried-looking deckhand, doesn't apologize, and ducks under another tray of champagne-doubtless headed in Chris's reliable direction.

There's a gate at the bottom of the final staircase, and a doorman stands beside it with a vacant look on his face. That look gets a lot sharper when Victor skids to a stop in front of him, hair in disarray but still very obviously a gentleman, with a somewhat manic expression.

"If you would be so kind as to open the gate?"

"Sir, this is the third class deck. If the gentleman is lost-"

"The gentleman is not."

The man seems to struggle with himself for a moment, but ultimately decides that it's fine for a gentleman to go out so long as the riffraff doesn't try to come in. So he opens the gate, and Victor bolts through.

It's noisier down here, he realizes. It's not just the music, it's the chatter. Everywhere he looks people are talking and laughing, smoking cheap cigarettes and dealing out hands of slightly-dented cards.

"I know you've got that ace again Jack," someone says nearby, "There's a cigarette burn on the corner. Give it here, I'll deal this time-"

Victor looks about as out-of-place as a pickled herring in a sardine tin, but he moves in the direction of the music nonetheless. The deck is less crowded toward the stem, and soon he catches sight of the dancers and the fiddler.

One dancer, in particular.

He's smiling, and Victor's breath catches in his throat. His smile is perfect. It touches his eyes and the flush high on his cheeks, and as the little boy he's teaching spins again he laughs softly.

"Perfect," he tells him, and the boy nearly lifts off the deck with pride. "You're a very good dancer, Yurio."

"Of course I am," the boy replies, trying not to look too pleased with himself. "I'm going to be the best! Show me again?"

"But watching you spin made me so dizzy," the man claims, going for a spin himself and staggering comically. The boy laughs as he wobbles all over the deck.

Victor can't help it. He takes a step forward.

His savior, still caught up in the throes of his dramatic performance, stumbles right into his arms. Victor catches him deftly, looping one arm under the small of his back.

"Oh!" The man freezes against him, stiff with surprise. "I'm so sorry. I wasn't paying attention, and-" Then he recognizes Victor, and the color bleeds from his face. His eyes go wide, darting from side to side as he hunts for a quick escape.

Victor lifts them out of their impromptu French dip, but doesn't remove his hand from the small of the man's back. He knows from experience just how fast this one can be.

"Yuuri," the boy's voice complains from somewhere nearby, "Show me again, I need to see it again!"

A grin spreads across Victor's face. "Yuuri," he says delightedly. "What a wonderful name."

A sound not unlike a whistling teapot escapes Yuuri, and he takes an insistent step back. Victor lets him, hand dropping from his waist. "I looked all over for you," Victor tells him, then gestures vaguely around the deck. "I guess I wasn't looking in the right places."

"About that," Yuuri tries, "Please, I- I know I wasn't supposed to be on the first class promenade. And it won't happen again. I wouldn't have jimmied the gate if I hadn't seen you up there, and…"

Victor realizes suddenly, and with dawning bewilderment, that Yuuri fled because he feared reprimand over being on the wrong deck of the ship. He blinks owlishly down at the dark-haired man, nose wrinkling slightly. "You saved my life," he says plainly.

"Well- I mean, not really, I just-"

"You saved my life," Victor tells him again, "And you think I'm going to throw you into the brig for trespassing?"

Yuuri flushes darkly, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Um." He swallows. "A-Aren't you?"

Victor beams at him. "Only if you ever make such a silly suggestion again." He steps closer, crowding Yuuri a bit against a support strut. "Now," he adds, "I believe you were offering dancing lessons?"

Something tugs at Victor's coat, and he turns around to blink down at the small boy Yuuri had been tutoring earlier.

"Get in line," Yurio snaps.

* * *

 **Notes:** Now if you're like me, and your brain is always doing rough calculations of timeline in an attempt to make sense of a chaotic and heartless world, you might be thinking something like the following:

"Terra," you might say, "I was pretty confident that Yurio was Victor's son in the prologue. He was described as being a young blonde man. But you just introduced him as an eight-year-old child on the Titanic. If the Titanic sank in 1912, but the wreckage wasn't found until 1985, that would make Yurio eighty-one in the prologue. What kind of circus are you running here? You listed Yuri/Otabek as a pairing, is Otabek gonna play tonsil hockey with an ornery octogenarian?"

Well here's the thing, hypothetical reader of this story. He's not. He's not because magic, and because I don't know, and because I guess Yuri's an immortal ageless being who gets to the age of "about thirty" and just full-stops. And I don't care, and don't look at me like that, and please stop making that face.

Don't worry, though. There shouldn't be too many other glaring inaccuracies in this story. I have a qualified staff of Titanic scholars (it's just one person, it's fluffy2044, but she's very dedicated and she owns a book about it) to keep me honest.


	4. Oceans Away

**Summary:** It can be hard, talking to people with whom you have nothing in common. There's always something, though. Maybe you both collect model trains. Maybe you both like bubble baths.

Maybe you're both cripplingly depressed.

* * *

Yuuri can't seem to stop blushing, and he can't decide if he wants to jump Victor or run away from him at full-tilt. Screaming.

On the one hand, Victor is beautiful. Painfully beautiful, the kind of beautiful people write bad poetry about. Poetry fraught with metaphors in which the moon and roses feature heavily.

Blue roses, he thinks vaguely. Blue would suit him.

On the other, Victor is… a lot. A lot to handle, a lot to take in. A lot of pretty much everything. He's expansive and dramatic and the way he moves makes the steerage deck look like a dance floor. The way he holds himself makes it look like a dance floor that belongs explicitly to him.

Yuuri eyes the cuff of Victor's tailored linen suit, fiddling idly with the sleeve of his own shirt. It's a good shirt, he thinks. Or rather he thought, until Victor swept down from on high to make his life confusing. Now he thinks it's very plain, and cheap, and maybe the elbows are a little worn through. He doesn't even have a jacket. The whole world can see his suspenders, and it didn't seem so scandalous until he had to stand next to Victor's three-piece.

Oh god, he doesn't know anything about upper-class etiquette. What if it's like flashing his underwear?

"That boy seemed very taken with you."

Yuuri stiffens, almost walking into a strut as he comes back to himself. Right. Conversation. Moving his face around with noise coming out. He knows how to do that.

"Yurio?" he manages after a moment. "Um. I just met him yesterday, actually. He's a good boy. He's got a lot of energy."

"I gathered that when he went out of his way to tread on my foot for distracting you."

"Yes, well." Yuuri knows for a fact that his cheeks are pink. "You know. Kids."

"Not that I can blame him, of course." Victor shoots him a glance out of the corner of his eye and Yuuri congratulates himself on continuing his streak of not running into anything. "And your company is certainly worth a few sprained toes."

"Oh god."

It takes Yuuri a minute to realize that he said that out loud, and didn't just do the decent thing and think it aggressively. Maybe Victor didn't hear.

"What?"

Oh well. Nothing for it now but to break a window and spend the rest of his voyage in the brig, where he can't embarrass himself.

"It's nothing," he hurries to say. "It's just. I mean, I don't know you-not that I don't want to-but this is so surreal. You're- Last night was such a blur, and I think I sat on you at one point when we- And now you're here, and you're very…"

He swallows.

"You're very… good. At this. And I'm… not."

Those lifeboats really do look appealing. He could make for Greenland, start a new life, become a shepherd.

Victor's blank expression morphs into something vaguely confused. "At… talking?"

"Yes," Yuuri says firmly, deciding that if he's in for a penny he might as well be in for the family fortune. Which as of this moment is about ten dollars and a brass watch his father left him. "You keep giving me compliments and making observations and asking relevant questions. Half the time I don't know what the next word out of my mouth is going to be, and when I do know I wish I didn't."

A bark of laughter escapes Victor, who looks just as surprised by it as Yuuri is. It isn't like the laughs he's heard from Victor so far, feathery little sounds that are a lot like the audible equivalent of lace. It's sharp and startled and…

"You're funny," Victor says, still looking surprised, but now he looks delighted too. "I didn't know you were funny."

"I'm not," Yuuri says desperately. "That's what I'm trying to tell you!"

But Victor is grinning, and then he's distracted by a call from above. There's a blonde man standing on the edge of one of the upper-class decks wearing what Yuuri can only assume pass for undergarments among the upper-crust, and he's waving emphatically.

"So you found him, then?" the man calls, and it's barely audible over the general noise on deck.

To his horror, the shouting seems to be directed at them. He's even more mortified when Victor gestures to him, wrists flicking in a showman's flourish. "Present and accounted for," he calls back, "Though I did have to fight a gremlin for the pleasure of his company!"

The scantily-clad blonde flaps his hands at them. "Well if you've already fought for him, you may as well invite him to dinner! That way you won't be so heartbroken when you realize we're due for drinks with the Crispinos in twenty minutes!"

Victor slaps a hand to his forehead. "Damn," he mutters, before raising his voice again. "Get dressed then, you look like someone's paid company! I'll meet you on the stairs!"

He turns his attention back to Yuuri, looking regretful. "Yuuri, I'm so sorry to run off like this. Duty calls. But you'll come to dinner, won't you? I'll be devastated if you don't."

Yuuri blinks like a deer caught in the crosshairs of a very expensive rifle.

"Of… Of course."

Victor's grin subsumes him like a cresting wave. "Wonderful! I'll see you at seven." Leaning down before Yuuri has the chance to flinch away, he presses a light kiss to his cheek. Then he's gone.

Yuuri stands there for what seems like an hour until someone bumps into him and his heart re-starts. He sits down heavily on a bench, staring out at the open ocean.

Victor, he thinks. And then, wow.

And finally, with dawning horror: what on earth am I going to wear?

* * *

 **Notes:** I was storyboarding with my hard-working Titanic scholar, and when I said something about "and on the sixth day-" she cut me off to inform me that the Titanic was only afloat for four days before everything went tits-up.

Obviously I panicked, because I've already wasted two whole days on humor and drama. So things are going to start moving a little more quickly now. If you think that's unrealistic, remember: in the movie they fell in love in forty-five minutes.


	5. On Fairy Godmothers

**Note:** Do you like this story and want to enjoy it on the go? While you work? During your gymnastics routine? Well I may be a big dork on the internet but in real life I'm a big dork who is also a professional audiobook narrator. Check out the podfic version of this story at my Archive of Our Own account, terra_incognita.

* * *

 **Summary:** Not every Cinderella gets a little old lady with a magic wand.

* * *

Yuuri is in the middle of the buildup to what promises to a spectacular meltdown when a well-dressed porter appears at his elbow. The man's crisp white jacket looks out-of-place on the steerage deck and he appears to know it, standing with his arms close to his sides as though any errant brush against Yuuri's fellow passengers could result in irreversible stains.

"Sir," the porter says with a crisp London accent, "You are expected on the upper deck."

Oh god, Yuuri thinks desperately, it can't be dinner time already. I can't show up in my suspenders, I think there's a hole in my shoe.

What he says is, "O-Of course. Lead the way."

To his surprise, the porter leads him away from the more public areas and toward the private staterooms. The really nice private staterooms. Now it's Yuuri who holds his arms close to his sides, praying he won't be asked to pay for anything he inadvertently smudges.

The porter raps smartly on an impressively ornate door and calls, "Mr. Katsuki, as requested."

The door swings open and another porter ushers Yuuri in and closes the door behind him. This new porter vanishes through another door, leaving Yuuri alone in a beautifully-decorated parlor. Which is not at all what he'd been expecting, because as far as he knows no one has any reason to invite him to a fancy stateroom at all. Certainly no one who can afford two private porters.

That's when Lilia Baranovskaya sweeps into the room, and Yuuri lets out an audible gasp.

He's never seen her up close, of course. Just the posters. But the prima ballerina is unmistakable even in her silver years, hair pulled back into a strict bun and eyes sharp enough to cut glass. Yuuri covers his mouth with one hand to avoid saying something embarrassing like, when I was a boy I wanted to be you and I still kind of do, or, did you really break another ballerina's ankle for trying to steal your husband?

Maybe she can read his thoughts on his face though, because she lets out a harsh little sound between her teeth. "You recognize me, then."

"Y-Yes."

"Good. Then you know I'm no one to be trifled with." She steps forward smartly and looks him up and down with a gaze so critical it makes him want to hide behind something. Then she nods. "Yes. You're about my son's size. There's a bath drawn in the adjoining room, go make use of it. Then change into the suit behind the screen."

She says the words with absolute confidence, which throws Yuuri because in conjunction absolutely none of them make sense.

"I'm… sorry? What?"

Another sharp, clicking noise. "Mr. Giacometti has requested that I outfit you appropriately for dinner tonight. I am not one in the habit of doing favors, but he claims this one is in the name of Mr. Nikiforov. A favorite of my late husband." She gestures absently to the mantle, where a framed photo of an elderly man and several somber young men takes precedence.

There, just to the right of the man who must have been Lilia's husband, Victor Nikiforov stares out at Yuuri with hollow eyes.

Yuuri remembers those eyes. He's seen them in the mirror too many times to count.

A prim cough snaps him out of his reverie, and he realizes that Lilia is gesturing pointedly at the washroom.

Right.

* * *

Surprisingly, the suit is a good fit. The shoulders are too broad, but that's only to be expected. Yuuri has never cut much of a figure, so it's unsurprising that a suit meant for a young aristocrat wouldn't fit perfectly.

He steps out from behind the screen and is met by Lilia's scowl.

"Um," he says, and manages not to squeak. "Is… something wrong?"

"You're about to go into the lion's den, boy," she tells him without preamble. "Go in like that and you'll come out with your bones picked clean."

Oh. That's not encouraging. "Well, it's. They'll know anyway, won't they? That I don't belong. There's…" he trails off. Tries again. "There's not much I can do about it."

"Horseshit."

He has to do a double-take. Lilia Baranovskaya just said horseshit to him and he feels a little like he's drunk.

"I." His throat closes up. "What?"

"My mother was a prostitute, and I never knew my father. When I was a girl I worked for pennies in a factory, which is not a fashionable position. Then I became a dancer, which was worse. I may have married money, boy, but I'm still some whore's factory girl."

She marches up to him and he realizes, with a sudden shock, how short she is. In spite of it she seems to tower. "Do you know why no one mentions it?"

Yuuri swallows. "N-No."

Something like a smile carves itself onto Lilia's lips, and Yuuri can see the shockingly beautiful young woman who'd taken a mallet to another girl's ankle. "Because as long as you pretend you own the floor beneath their feet, they'll never be sure where they stand."

She reaches around behind him and shoves a hand against his spine, forcing his back to straighten and his shoulders to tilt back.

Suddenly the suit fits perfectly.

"Come on then, Cinderella," she says, straightening his tie. "Let's show them whose ball they're dancing at."

They're not words of encouragement, really. More like a militant command. But something about them puts steel in Yuuri's bones, and when a porter arrives to announce dinner he offers Lilia his arm.

She takes it, and he walks unflinching into the jungle.

* * *

 **Notes:** Lilia Baranovskaya, in this fic, is stepping into the shoes of the indomitable Molly Brown. You may remember Molly from Kathy Bates' memorable performance in the Titanic movie, but you may not know that she was in fact a real person.

Margaret Brown or "The Unsinkable Molly Brown" was a socialite and philanthropist who was born to a poor family in Mississippi. She and her husband struck it rich when their mining company hit an ore seam. Uniquely, Molly herself owned considerable shares in the company and had a seat on the board. Never forgetting her humble origins, she spent a vast percentage of her personal wealth on charity and good works. And, of course, a first class ticket for a very famous trans-Atlantic voyage.

When the Titanic sank, Molly reportedly threatened to throw the crewmen manning her lifeboat overboard if they refused to return to the sinking site to look for survivors. Whether her rescue attempts were successful or not is uncertain, but her determination and self-assurance secured her a starring role in the RMS Titanic's story.


	6. A Stranger in a Strange Land

**Summary:** Wealth is a bit like a genetic deformity in that if you have it, your children are often born with it. We spend a lot of time wishing it were like the scarlet fever, and we could catch it just by rubbing ourselves enthusiastically against the rich.

* * *

People like Victor. He is everything he ought to be, which appeals to the aristocracy in a very tangible way. They expect him to be charming, gracious and handsome, and so he is. But he is also very, very clever. Sharp enough to cut himself, Yakov told him once. He relies on his smile to hide it. When people are dazzled by his smile, it's easier to miss the sharp way his eyes flicker over the world around him. The way they catch inconsistencies in his surroundings, flickers in the mannerisms of his peers.

Victor often surprises people with his rapier wit. It's not often that other people surprise him. This is why, when the doors to the dining room open and he sees who is on the other side, his jaw drops.

Lilia Baranovskaya is being escorted by a man Victor barely recognizes. His dark hair has been pushed back-not slicked exactly, per the fashion, but teased rakishly away from his face-and his fitted black suit makes him a dashing silhouette against the bright lights of the corridor outside. His back is straight, shoulders square but not rigid.

He looks, Victor thinks dazedly, like he was born for this.

Yuuri and Lilia approach the table where Victor sits, accompanied by the Crispino twins and a few other passengers of note. Victor lurches to his feet, managing not to overturn the table in his eagerness.

"Mr. Katsuki," he says, remembering his manners at the last moment. "A pleasure to see you again."

His knees almost go out when Yuuri smiles at him, a soft smirk that's as promising as it is beautiful. "Mr. Nikiforov," he greets, and pauses to pull out a chair for Lilia.

She sits, leveling a look at Victor that he can't quite read before turning her attention to an older woman seated next to her.

Yuuri sits down beside Victor in the last available chair, the one Victor has been subtly shooing people away from all night. He nods to the table's other occupants, and Chris kicks Victor harshly under the table.

"Introductions," Victor says abruptly, more to himself than to anyone else. "Yuuri, may I introduce you to Visconte and Viscontessa Crispino, lately of Rome, and Mr. Giacometti. His family hails from Switzerland, which is why you must excuse his bad manners."

"And of course you need no introduction," Chris says, his smile just gracious enough to hide his teeth, "We all know the story of the dashing Mr. Katsuki, who rescued our errant friend from a watery grave."

Sara Crispino leans around her brother, expression curious. "Is it true you lifted him off his feet?" Her English, while well-studied, still has a touch of Rome in it. "What a show of strength!"

Victor is the only one close enough to see the pale pink bloom on Yuuri's cheeks at the unexpected compliment. "I'm sure I did what anyone would have done," he says, delicately avoiding the question. "I was simply in the right place at the right time."

Sara coos at his modesty, and beside her Michele bristles. "An accomplishment indeed," he says, and his expression isn't quite jovial enough to mask the sharpness of his tone. "However did you manage it, from two decks down?"

Silence drops on the table like an anvil. Victor is about to turn his own sharp tongue on Michele-Visconte or no-when Yuuri's soft voice breaks it.

"I suppose, Visconte, that I simply have trouble minding my own business." His eyes flicker up from his champagne glass, unassuming and completely without guile. "An unattractive flaw, but a common one."

Michele sputters for a moment, but either he realizes his defeat or his sister treads hard on his toes because he returns his attention to the meal in front of him. Chris looks like it's taking every ounce of careful social conditioning in his body not to throw back his head and howl with laughter.

Victor, for his part, is still staring at Yuuri like he's a delightful puzzle. Who is this dashing stranger? Where is the meek little mouse who stutters on every third word, the one Victor took such a lovely stroll with on the promenade this afternoon?

"More champagne?" he offers, noticing that Yuuri's glass has run dry.

"Please," Yuuri answers, and there's an edge of tension in his voice. Victor waves a waiter over and indicates the empty glass.

"Yuuri," Victor murmurs when the man has gone, "I apologize for Michele. He's Italian, but that's hardly a good excuse. The Pope is Italian, and you don't see him wandering around looking for reasons to shove his foot in his mouth."

Yuuri snorts into his champagne, and Victor has the presence of mind to cover the sound by making a nuisance of himself.

"Mr. Giacometti," he calls across the table, "You were telling us about your last skiing trip, weren't you? Something about a yeti?"

Chris lets out a bark of laughter. "The only hairy monster I saw on that mountain was my ski instructor. Incidentally-"

He launches into a story about his stay on the mountain, one full of barely-acceptable innuendo and obvious lies. Chris, Victor reflects, can always be counted on for a good distraction.

The evening winds down, and soon some of the older gentlemen are rising from the table. They make their excuses to the ladies, and Victor doesn't have to listen to know that those excuses most prominently feature fine brandy and expensive cigars.

"Mr. Katsuki," he says, standing himself, "I don't suppose you would do me the honor of taking a turn about the ship?"

Yuuri hesitates. "I would," he says uncertainly, "But to leave Mrs. Baranovskaya without an escort-"

"Oh, go on," Lilia says with a scowl that doesn't quite reach her eyes, "Take some air. I can see myself back to my stateroom."

For another brief moment Yuuri wavers, then he stands and leans down to kiss Lilia's hand. Victor's eyes go wide, and for a moment he thinks he's about to see his savior mauled.

Much to his shock, there's no blood. Yuuri murmurs a quick, "Thank you for everything." Lilia's mouth twitches and it can't be a smile, certainly not, but then she's shooing them away and Victor doesn't have time to think about it.

When the doors open, the cold air feels like home. He closes his eyes, sucking in a deep breath and expelling it in a puff of vapor. "Much better than that stuffy dining room," he confides.

Yuuri, for his part, is very quiet beside him. Victor frowns, but offers Yuuri his arm as they move away from the other couples lingering on the promenade. A moment later they're completely alone.

Then, finally, Yuuri lets go of Victor's arm and sags against the paneled wall. "Oh god," he whispers, and Victor is hit with a wave of concern.

"Yuuri?" he says cautiously, coming to stand next to him. "Yuuri, what's wrong?"

"That's the scariest thing I've ever done," Yuuri confides, lifting one hand to cover his eyes. "I kept worrying about the forks, and-" He freezes, peeking at Victor over his hand. "Did I-" He swallows hard. "I told off a Visconte. Victor, I told a Visconte to mind his own business."

A beaming smile overtakes Victor's face before he can stop it. "You did," he agrees, "And it was brilliant."

Yuuri makes a strangled sound, shoving both hands into his hair. It tumbles out of its careful style, slipping down to brush his forehead and the tips of his ears. Victor watches one lock as it settles over the delicate skin at the corner of Yuuri's eye, before being brushed away by trembling fingers.

"Right," Yuuri says sternly, and Victor is fairly certain he's talking to himself. "Well I haven't been locked up yet, so I probably won't be. Can they put you in jail for being rude to a Visconte?"

"Maybe in Rome."

Yuuri pushes away from the wall and brushes off his jacket. Then he seems to remember the rest of his ensemble. "Oh," he says softly, "The clothes. I'll need to return them-" He turns to head toward the staterooms, but Victor catches his arm on instinct. He glances down at Victor's hand, then up to meet his eyes, his expression full of questions.

Victor doesn't have any answers so he just says, "Not yet. Lilia is still in the dining room, remember? She won't miss them for another hour or so."

For a moment he thinks Yuuri is going to insist. That's the kind of person he is; responsible, conscientious. Everything that Victor has to try so hard to maintain seems to come naturally to Yuuri and Victor thinks, you should've been the one born with a silver spoon in your mouth. Maybe you wouldn't have choked on it like I did.

Then Yuuri smiles. It's small, and it's hesitant.

But it's a start.

* * *

 **Notes:** This chapter takes place primarily in the first class dining saloon, which was painstakingly located in the part of the ship that would have the smoothest voyage. It was decorated in the Jacobean style, and had linoleum tiles carefully arranged to create the illusion of a Persian rug. When the Titanic split down the middle during the shipwreck, the saloon was situated along the split. It was almost completely destroyed, though a few of its windows and wood panels remain.


	7. First Interlude

"Hah. I'm afraid you'll have to give an old man a moment to rest his voice. It's been a while since I talked so much."

Otabek feels unsteady for a moment, as though he's had a rug pulled out from under him. He blinks rapidly to regain his composure.

"Of course," he says. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Please," Victor says with a smile, standing slowly. "Just point the way. I need to stretch my legs anyway."

Otabek glances at Victor's son for confirmation, but the young man just shrugs. "He doesn't like to sit still. Says he did enough of it at boarding school to last a lifetime."

JJ offers to show Victor to the galley, and the two of them disappear down a long corridor. All around Otabek and the green-eyed stranger are the sounds of abandoned work being resumed, as the scientists who'd stopped to listen to the story remember what they're being paid for.

Letting out a huff of breath, the younger man slumps back in his chair. Otabek eyes him speculatively.

"You know," he says slowly, "I never caught your name."

"Victor has a way of monopolizing the spotlight," the man agrees. He glances at Otabek. "…It's Yurio. Yuri, really, but I haven't gone by that in so long that even I forget sometimes."

Otabek isn't sure if there's a delicate way to ask his next question, so he falls back on an age-old standby: bluntness.

"You're the kid in the story."

Green eyes narrow slightly, and Yurio pauses before answering. "...Yeah."

"You were on the Titanic too."

An irritated hiss escapes between Yurio's teeth. "Listen," he says, his voice low. "If you're gonna ask me a bunch of personal questions about it, you'll be disappointed. I was like six years old. I don't remember much."

He shouldn't push this man, Otabek knows. It's a sensitive subject. But he can't help himself, his dogged nature winning out. "I find that hard to believe."

Yurio gapes at him, then bares his teeth. He looks as though he's about to snarl something back when JJ comes into the room with his usual unnecessary flourish. Victor is right behind him, and Yurio's attention snaps to the old man like it's on an elastic band.

Otabek thinks he understands that gaze a little better now. It's careful. Watchful. Protective. He knows that Yurio isn't Victor's biological son, but whatever they've been through together has made that fact utterly irrelevant. They're family in every way that matters.

Victor sinks back into his seat, and his eyes flicker from Yurio's tense posture to Otabek's impassive face.

At least, Otabek thinks it's impassive. The way Victor's eyes crinkle with amusement has him second-guessing himself.

"Yurio," Victor says, "I hope you've been polite to our host."

Yurio makes a noncommittal noise, and Victor chuckles lightly. Then his eyes drift back to the display, and Otabek watches as they trace the illuminated Promenade deck. He knows that the last time Victor saw it the white paint was still fresh and clean, but now rusty stalactites drip from the rails where Victor met the love of his life.

When Victor speaks again his voice is low, both worn over the years and made stronger by them. "Shall we continue?"


	8. Some Perspective

**Summary:**

Get a second opinion when:

-your car breaks down  
-your health fails  
-you can't stop thinking about that cute boy you met

* * *

"I don't think I've ever been this confused in my life," Yuuri confesses as he flops back onto his tiny bunk in steerage. "It was all so strange."

"Mm-hm."

He stares at the slats of the bunk above him, reaching up to tousle his hair back into its habitual style. "We had dinner, and walked the Promenade, and I wore a fancy suit… None of it seemed real."

"Mm."

Yuuri frowns, eyes narrowing. "…And then he took me to the moon, and we ate raw eggs while King George taught us to play bezique."

"Uh-huh."

"Phichit!" Yuuri kicks the underside of his friend's bunk, and is rewarded by an indignant squawk.

"What!" Phichit's face appears over the edge of the bed, peering down at Yuuri with his nose wrinkled in disgruntled surprise. His expression clears a moment later. "I'm sorry Yuuri, it's just that you've been going on about this for an hour already. Wondering about his motives and his mental state."

"I just don't see why he wants to- to spend time with me," Yuuri says exasperatedly, scrubbing a hand across his face.

Phichit wiggles his eyebrows. "Well, I can think of a few reasons."

Yuuri flushes darkly, and aims another kick at the slats.

"I'm just saying!" Phichit rushes to continue, holding his hands up placatingly. One of them has a screwdriver in it. "Is it so unbelievable that he might just… like you?"

Yuuri stares back at him, attempting to convey with only the look on his face that he has never in his life heard such a preposterous notion voiced out loud.

Phichit sets aside the camera he's been tinkering with for the better part of the evening, sliding off of his bunk to join Yuuri on his. Yuuri automatically budges up to make room for them, and soon they're both wedged against the headboard of the tiny bed.

"Listen," Phichit says, his tone low and sincere. "I don't want to get your hopes up. I've heard of the Nikiforov family, and he couldn't get more well-to-do if he was royalty. But hell. That doesn't mean you shouldn't go for it."

Yuuri tips his head down to bury his face against Phichit's shoulder. "I don't even know if there's anything to go for."

Phichit smiles fondly and ruffles Yuuri's hair. "If he earned even half of that expensive education, he's smart enough to know that you're too good to miss."

* * *

"It'll never work, you know."

The sun is rising over the shuffleboard courts, and Chris is making a valiant attempt to scare his hangover away with a particularly flamboyant outfit. Honestly Victor thinks the coat cuts a rather dashing silhouette, but the brocade is pushing it a little.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"I mean," Chris twirls his cue in his hand before setting it to the court and delivering a shot that absolutely cripples Victor's score. "That you haven't got a snowflake's chance in hell."

"That's why I like you, Chris." Victor takes his own shot, managing not to scowl unattractively when it falls short by a considerable margin. "You're always so full of words of encouragement."

"Well, let's look at the facts, shall we?" Chris nods to the scorekeeper, who adjusts the points accordingly. "He's a beautiful, graceful young man with natural social poise and an unflinching moral compass, who seems to make you incandescently happy just by standing next to you. And what have you got to offer him in return?" A dismissive wave. "Enough personal wealth to buy a small nation. Face it. You can't afford him."

"Perhaps I'll take out a loan."

"Victor, my family owns a not-inconsiderable share in the Swiss National Bank. I don't think even our most competitive loan would get you anywhere close."

Victor snorts, and lines up his next shot.

For all that he's making a fuss, Victor knows that really this is Chris's way of encouraging him. He may not have shared the whole truth of the night he and Yuuri met with his closest friend, but he's noticed the way Chris watches him now. A little cautious, a little sad. Chris suspects. And given that he hasn't stopped going on about Yuuri since the dinner the night before, he clearly hopes Victor has found the antidote to his melancholy.

"So I'll sell this." Victor tugs the necklace out of his pocket on a whim, dangling the massive blue diamond by its chain.

Chris immediately goes stiff, his knuckles going white on the cue. "You shouldn't have that out here," he says, his voice low and all frivolity gone from it. "It's not ensured unless it's in the safe. You signed the manifest-"

"It belongs to me, doesn't it?" Victor's tone is sharp. He flips the pendant up into his hand and shoves it back into his pocket. "So I'll do what I like with it."

Chris's eyes follow the necklace carefully, and when it disappears they flicker up to Victor's face. "…Right."

Victor beams sunnily at him, and nods at the board. "Your turn."

* * *

 **Notes:** 105 years ago today, the White Star luxury liner RMS Titanic set out from Southampton with 2228 souls on board.

Writing Chris is a lot of fun! This era in particular is well-suited to him, because he falls into the personality type of the "dandy" rather well. A dandy (or, as he would have been called in his home country, a beau or gallant) was defined as a man who was unusually devoted to fashion, elegant language, and leisure. They pursued beauty in all aspects of their lives, and were often described as droll and sarcastic but devastatingly intelligent.


	9. Small Packages

**Summary:** The world looks very different through the eyes of a child. Bigger, for one thing. Lonelier. More frightening.

* * *

The day wears on. Victor glad-hands a little more with the Crispinos, smoothing Michele's ruffled feathers while effortlessly charming Sara. She takes him aside while Chris distracts her brother, and lowers her voice conspiratorially.

"These are for Mr. Katsuki," she tells him, and passes Victor a little parcel that clinks slightly in its delicate wrappings. "Tell him from me that I'll be in touch any time my brother's ego needs a bit of deflating."

Victor laughs at that. It's genuine, which surprises him a little. Yuuri has done something to him, he thinks. Whether it's a miracle or a disaster is yet to be seen, but Victor finds himself inclined to hope.

Come to think of it, that's new too.

He thanks Sara, and as she returns to her brother's side he weighs the parcel curiously in his hand. A bottle, he thinks, and smirks. Well. She is Italian, after all.

"Victor, will you join us in the lounge?"

Victor looks up at that, catching Chris's raised eyebrow and the inquisitive tilt to his lips when he sees the parcel. Victor quickly tucks it into his jacket pocket, where Chris's sharp eyes can't follow. "No, thank you," he says, smiling politely. "I think I'll go for a stroll. It's not healthy to spend all day draped over a chaise, no matter how much some people enjoy it."

Chris gives a little flutter of mock-offense, fingers pressing to his cheek. Then he flaps his hands dismissively. "Go on, then." He offers Sara his arm and she takes it, Michele scowling a little as he follows them toward the stern. Victor is about to trot off toward the stem when he hears Chris call over his shoulder, "And give Mr. Katsuki our fond regards, won't you?"

Victor wishes they were alone so he could throw something at the retreating Switzer, but instead he just gives a jaunty wave. "Certainly, if I happen to run into him."

Chris's laugh is very pointed but it fades as he and the Crispinos take a sharp turn through an ornate teak door, leaving Victor alone with his thoughts.

His thoughts, Victor thinks morosely, aren't very good company. He shoves his hands into his pockets and his fingers brush against the cold, smooth surface of the diamond. He snatches his hand back out as though it's been burned, grinding his teeth and resisting the urge to wipe his hand on his lapel.

It's just a necklace, he tells himself fiercely. Just a bunch of rocks on a fancy chain. Nothing to be afraid of.

Victor leans against the railing, hoping the cool ocean air will clear his thoughts. It's getting colder every day as they venture into Northern waters, and Victor takes a deep breath.

 _Mama, can I hold it?_

 _Of course, dear. But be careful of the pendant, it's very old. And very valuable._

 _Because it's a diamond?_

 _Yes. But not just any diamond. Now, Mama needs to wear it to the gala tonight, so-_

"Hand it over!"

Victor startles slightly, dragged out of his memory by a snarling voice from the steerage deck. He looks down, hunting for the source of the outburst, and sees a deckhand lifting up a little boy by the front of his shirt.

"I didn't take it," the boy bites back. Victor realizes with a start that it's the boy Yuuri had been playing with the day before. Yurio, he thinks. And he's kicking out vainly as the deckhand tightens his grip.

Without thinking, Victor rushes down the nearest stair. The gate is unlocked, no doubt left ajar by the deckhand currently shaking Yuuri's little friend, and Victor pushes through it and emerges at a run.

"You!" he calls out to the deckhand. "What do you think you're doing? Put him down!"

The deckhand turns with a snarl on his lips, but when he sees Victor the expression dies a quick and painful death.

"Sir," he croaks, clearly recognizing Victor. "I just- He-" He clears his throat. "He's been picking pockets, sir. That kind of thing really can't be toler-"

"I wasn't!" Yurio insists, glaring daggers at the man still holding him by his scruffy lapels. "I never stole anything! It's not my fault you lost your stupid whistle!"

The man flushes red, and seems about to tear into Yurio again. Victor steps forward smartly and places a firm hand on his shoulder.

"It sounds to me," he says slowly, "As though this is all a misunderstanding. Your whistle probably rolled under the railing." His grip tightens fractionally. "Put the boy down, and we'll speak no more about it."

Reluctantly, the man loosens his grip and lets Yurio slip free. The boy lands in a crouch, and aims a kick at the deckhand's shin before Victor's sharp expression catches his eye. Scowling, he shoves his hands into the pockets of his oversized jacket and looks at his feet.

Victor passes a couple of bills to the deckhand, smoothing things over, and watches as he skulks back to his post.

"Well," he says, turning a bright expression on Yurio, "That was exciting."

"I didn't need your help," Yurio tells him sharply, still glaring at his feet.

"Probably not," Victor admits. He sits down on a nearby bench, crossing his legs at the ankles. "But any friend of Yuuri's is a friend of mine. Besides, you didn't take that whistle."

That gives Yurio pause. He watches Victor cautiously, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Then he glances after the crewman.

Almost sheepishly, he produces the whistle from one of his sagging pockets. Victor blinks down at the gleam of silver in Yurio's little hand.

"Oh," he says dumbly.

"I didn't steal it," Yurio says defensively. "I just- I wanted to look at it. I was gonna give it back!"

"Of course," Victor reassures him. Then he glances after the crewman too, hoping he hasn't seen. Victor doesn't have a lot of money on him and he's not sure he has enough to pay the man off again.

"Don't tell Yuuri."

Victor blinks, then looks back down at the little boy standing stiffly in front of him. "Hm?"

"Don't tell Yuuri," Yurio repeats. He swallows, and shoves the whistle back into his pocket. "He'd be disappointed."

Smiling wryly, Victor nods. "Our little secret," he agrees. Then, "When I was your age, I'd've been much more worried about my father finding out."

Yurio relaxes as the threat of Yuuri's disappointment passes. He sits down on the bench next to Victor and kicks his legs idly. "Don't have a father."

Victor hums. "Your mother, then."

"Don't have a mother."

This gives Victor pause, and he turns to stare down at the little orphan in the too-large coat and frayed trousers. "…Who looks after you, then?"

"My grandpa did," Yurio tells him, playing with the hem of his shirt. "But he died. So now my uncle is taking me to America to live with his family."

Victor finds himself imitating Yurio's slouch, his eyes drawn again to the ocean. After a long silence, he says, "I don't have a mother or father either."

Yurio glances up at him. "Who looks after you?"

"I'm still trying to work that part out."

Yurio watches him for a quiet moment that stretches on in a strangely comfortable way. Then he slides off the bench.

"Come on," he says, and jerks his head toward the stern.

"Hm?" Victor sits up, blinking down at him.

"Come on," Yurio repeats, a little more insistently this time. He grabs Victor's sleeve and tugs him to his feet.

Victor follows, a little dumbstruck. "Where are we going?"

"Don't ask stupid questions," Yurio snaps. Then he glances over his shoulder, eyes unreadable as they catch Victor's before darting away again.

Victor finds his expression turning oddly fond as he's pulled along in Yurio's wake toward some mysterious destination. Yuuri is right, he thinks. Yurio's a good kid.

He hopes this uncle of his knows that.

* * *

 **Notes:** While there weren't an abundance of children on the Titanic, there were certainly a few. When the Titanic left port, she was carrying 109 passengers under the age of fourteen. When the ship was evacuated, women and children were escorted off first. 56 children made it to the lifeboats and survived the long night on the water.

Of the 53 children left onboard to die, 52 were third class passengers.


	10. Knowing All the Steps

**Summary:** There is a kind of honesty in dancing. An open vulnerability. Anyone can lie with their mouths, you learn it on your parents' knees. It's much harder to lie with every muscle in your body.

* * *

When Yurio drags Victor through a low doorway near the stern of the ship, Victor's first thoughts are overwhelmed by the noise. It's loud and close, people laughing and pint glasses colliding and music cresting over it all. He inhales sharply and almost chokes on a puff of smoke from a nearby man's cigar.

Somewhere in front of him, he hears Yurio cackle.

"Where are we?" Victor calls over the din, and has to strain to hear Yurio's answer.

"Third class saloon," he shouts back. "Come on, this way!"

Victor stumbles a bit as he follows his young guide, ducking under a tray and weaving through the thick crowd. It's nothing like the first class saloon, he thinks, with its elegant tiling and broad windows. It's dim and smokey, a little overwhelming. Why on earth has Yurio brought him here?

He voices the question to Yurio, who gives him a baleful stare as they stumble out into a slightly more open area dotted with tables. "You're kinda stupid."

Victor is about to chastise him for his poor manners when he catches sight of Yuuri. The man is in animated conversation with another passenger, gesturing enthusiastically and wrinkling his nose at his friend's response. He seems about to offer a rebuttal when he happens to glance in their direction.

For a moment his face goes slack with surprise, then a hesitant smile blooms on his lips. He waves, just a little flutter of his fingers, and then Yurio is dragging Victor forward again.

"He got lost," Yurio says by way of an explanation.

The man Yuuri had been talking to turns in his seat, and fumbles a little when he sees Victor. "On his way to what? The symphony?"

Victor flushes a little, but laughs to cover it. "Yuuri," he greets, then extends his hand. "And… I don't think I've had the pleasure."

Yuuri rushes to rectify the situation. "This is Phichit," he says, gesturing to his friend. The man rises and takes Victor's hand with a firm shake and a wide grin. "A friend of mine, and an aspiring photographer." He winces. "Unfortunately."

Phichit's laugh is infectious. "Yuuri's just camera shy." He lovingly pats a bulky case where it sits between them on the table. "I've told him it won't bite, but he still won't let me take his picture."

"With a face like his?" Victor offers Yuuri a broad wink. "What a shame."

Yuuri turns a delightful pink, and somewhere near Victor's waist Yurio makes a disgusted sound. "I'm leaving," the boy announces to no one in particular.

Victor catches Yurio's shoulder, and the boy tenses before relaxing into the grip. He looks up at Victor cautiously.

"Thanks," Victor tells him earnestly, and means it.

For the briefest moment, Yurio's eyes go wide with surprise. Then he shrugs. "This isn't a charity, you know. You owe me one."

Chuckling, Victor ruffles the boy's yellow-blonde hair and nods agreement. "I'll have my people talk to your people, hm?"

Yurio snorts out a laugh, and disappears into the crowd.

When Victor turns back to face the table, Yuuri and Phichit are in the middle of a whispered conversation. Phichit is grinning from ear to ear, but Yuuri's expression looks harried and a little dire. When he notices Victor looking he slaps Phichit lightly on the shoulder and straightens.

Victor allows himself a slow grin when he realizes that they were almost definitely talking about him. "Any interesting gossip?" he asks lightly.

"Oh, plenty," Phichit answers, and Victor decides immediately that he likes him.

"Victor," Yuuri interrupts before the two of them have the chance to get started, "Can I get you a drink? There's no champagne, but…?"

Victor nods agreeably, sitting down in a chair that turns out to be slightly wobbly. "I may be moneyed, but I'm still Russian. Anything with a kick."

Yuuri darts off and returns with a pint of something dark and frothy. Victor's first sip is a little dainty, but to his surprise it's a decent brew. His next few swallows are much less delicate. Phichit, who turns out to be an excellent conversationalist, drags both Victor and Yuuri into a conversation about photography. Victor, who has sat for several photo portraits with his family and schoolmates, has a few complaints.

"You have to sit so still," he grouses. "Like a statue. It takes forever. By the time they're finished everyone always looks either constipated or murderous."

"Not with my girl," Phichit says with another loving pat to the case. "Very modern. Only takes a few seconds for the image to take."

"He tried to set up a darkroom in the lavatory," Yuuri confides.

"That's clever."

Yuuri's expression turns pained. "The whole corridor shares a lavatory."

"It's art," Phichit says with a sniff. "They can walk to the next corridor for art."

"Mrs. Bentley is pregnant."

"Waddle, then."

Victor finds himself smiling, and isn't sure why. Yuuri's scowl is almost as sweet as his smile, especially when Victor can detect the laughter hiding behind it. It's in the tiny tremble at the corner of his mouth, the little wrinkle on the bridge of his nose-

"Katsuki!" Someone stumbles against the back of Yuuri's chair, and Victor just barely manages to rescue his beer as the table jostles violently. They blink up at the rosy-cheeked woman standing over their table, her eyes cheerful if a little glassy. She claps her hands together and a few passengers look up from their drinks.

Yuuri goes very, very pale.

"This is Katsuki, the one I told you about!" the woman titters to her friends. "The dancer, remember?"

Yuuri tries to interrupt her. "Mrs. Jackson, I'm not-"

"Caught him practicing on deck last night. He was like an angel! Weren't you, love?"

"I don't think-"

"Oh, don't be so modest." A few more passengers have looked over, their necks craning at the commotion. "Give us a dance! Come on then, like last night!"

Yuuri is scarlet. "Mrs. Jackson-"

But she's already shouting over the crowd, announcing a special performance.

Victor feels instinctively that he should rescue Yuuri, but he can't deny that he's curious. "You dance?" he asks, eyebrow quirking up. "I thought you were just playing with Yurio. Are you a folk dancer?"

"No, I-"

Yuuri is swept away before he can finish answering, the crowd moving as one to lift him onto the raised platform at the center of the saloon. Victor settles back in his seat, a bemused little smile coming to his face. "Well, this is a surprise."

When he glances back at Phichit, the man is grinning wolfishly. It's an odd expression, but Victor just shrugs and turns his attention back to the stage.

Which is why he doesn't notice Phichit dropping a few coins into Mrs. Jackson's waiting palm.

Yuuri is in conference with the band, the five of them speaking in low voices before parting with a nod. Yuuri moves to the center of the stage. He's still flushed, but now he looks resigned to his fate. His eyes meet Victor's for a moment, and the music rises.

The classical refrain sounds a little odd at first, played on the same fiddle that had been sawing away at a cheerful jig just moments ago. But all that is forgotten when Yuuri begins to move.

His arms glide up, lifted by the trilling of the flute even as the piano turns his head with effortless grace. He's a part of the music, carried by it even as he seems to create it, body swaying and spinning as it weaves notes from still air.

It's ballet, Victor thinks, but ballet has never made him feel lightheaded before.

The crowd is breathlessly still, but a gasp sweeps through it as Yuuri leaps impossibly high, landing as though he weighs nothing and moving into a dizzying spin. Victor's eyes catch on the curve of his spine and the way his head tips back, every movement managing to seem unstudied but in reality so carefully controlled. So perfectly intentional.

It's over too quickly. The music fades, leaving Yuuri perfectly still with one arm outstretched as though reaching for something just beyond his grasp. For a moment no one dares to break the silence, then Victor lurches to his feet and the quiet is drowned by thunderous applause.

Yuuri goes pink again, politely acknowledging the cheers of the crowd as he makes his way back to their little table. There's a light sheen of sweat on his forehead, a few strands of dark hair clinging to his cheeks, and he's smiling with a kind of bashful exhilaration that makes Victor's heart do somersaults in his chest.

"That was-" Victor swallows. "You were incredible."

"Not really," Yuuri says with a breathless laugh, "But, thanks."

The music rises again, joyful and passionate, and now couples inspired by Yuuri's performance are flooding the stage. Victor laughs a bit as an older man and his giggling wife spin by, her shoes pounding out a rhythm against the saloon floor.

"I know I can't compare for skill," he says, eyes following the couple before they flicker back down to meet Yuuri's. "But would you consider dancing with me?"

Yuuri's mouth falls open, and for a moment he looks surprised. Then the thrill of his performance seems to catch up with him because he smiles so brightly that it dazzles Victor.

"Try to keep up."

Yuuri's arm catches Victor around the waist, and before he knows it they've been swept up among the whirling couples on the dance floor. It's not a dance he knows but Yuuri takes the lead easily, steering Victor in leaping steps and quick spins as they make their way around the room. At some point Victor starts laughing and can't seem to stop, and he's not sure when Yuuri joins him but when the song ends they're leaning against one another and giggling helplessly.

"I need some air," Yuuri says, squeezing Victor's hand.

Victor nods in agreement, not quite composed enough to speak yet as they stumble out onto the lamp-lit deck. The crisp breeze is a relief, and Victor tips his head back to breathe in the salt-spray.

"You can't taste the ocean on the upper promenade," he confides. "It's so dry up there. I like this much better."

Yuuri huffs out a laugh beside him. "You say that now. Wait 'til your clothes go tacky with salt."

They wander together on the deck, talking and laughing and using the beer as an excuse to stumble against each other now and again. Far below them the sea roars by, waves lapping at the Titanic's impenetrable hull.

"So you're a dancer," Victor says. He trails his free hand over the railing, his other still tangled with Yuuri's. "A ballerina, no less."

"Not really," Yuuri confides with a modest blush. "I never had formal training. But there was a lady on my street, Minako. She used to dance, until her drinking caught up with her. She used to give me lessons in exchange for little chores or errands." He smiles, and the expression is wistful. "I think she liked the company, mostly. But I always loved to dance."

"You're lucky."

Victor doesn't mean to say it, but it's out before he can stop it. He laughs, trying to distract Yuuri from the little stumble. "Of course, so am I." Don't start babbling, don't start babbling. "I can hardly help it-"

Yuuri squeezes his fingers, and the words die on his lips. He looks down and he shouldn't have, because Yuuri is watching him with those kind eyes and he doesn't even have to ask.

"…You're lucky," Victor says again. "To know what you love. To…" He swallows. "To love anything at all."

"Victor…"

He turns away, jaw tense. He shouldn't have said anything. There's nothing Yuuri can do, he's just looking for sympathy, it's pathetic.

"I should get back to my stateroom," he says quietly, releasing Yuuri's hand. "It's late."

Behind him he hears a little sigh, almost swallowed by the crashing sea. "Of course. I'll get the gate for you, there's no attendant after ten."

They move in silence to the aft stair, and Yuuri jimmies the lock so easily that Victor can't help voicing how impressed he is.

"My neighbor used to lock herself out a lot," he explains. "She was old."

They stand there awkwardly for a moment. When Yuuri opens his mouth to say goodnight Victor gets there first, but instead of a quick farewell what comes out is, "Walk me up?"

Yuuri swallows his goodbyes, then manages a stuttering, "S-Sure."

They're close but not quite touching as they walk side-by-side up the stairs, along the broad promenade, down a central corridor. They don't run into many people, but the few they do encounter look at Yuuri askance. Victor knows Yuuri notices, feels him closing up like a fan.

He shouldn't have asked Yuuri to come with him, he thinks. And then, what right do they have to look at him that way? Yuuri teaches orphans to dance, he does chores for lonely women, he picks locks for his elderly neighbors. What have they ever done? Donate a set percentage to a popular charity?

The next time an elderly gentleman frowns down his nose at Yuuri Victor wraps one arm firmly around Yuuri's waist and grins back at the old man, all teeth and sharp eyes. The man hurries to look away, and Victor feels Yuuri relax a little at his side.

Something in his chest loosens.

It feels too soon when they reach Victor's stateroom. The oak door with its rich fittings feels more like a prison door than anything else, and Victor shudders a bit when he thinks about the set of ornate, empty rooms behind it. Still, he twists the knob and stands in the doorway for a long, quiet moment.

He turns to Yuuri, determined to say goodnight this time, but finds the word caught in his throat.

It doesn't matter, though. Because Yuuri is close, leaning up on his toes to press a slow kiss to Victor's lips. It's gentle and warm but so, so real, and Victor makes a helpless sound as his hands find Yuuri's waist.

They never do get around to saying goodnight.

* * *

 **Notes:** You may remember the inspiration for this scene from the Titanic movie. If so, the music probably stood out to you: an energetic Irish jig, played by an enthusiastic band. This music was chosen because the majority of the non-English passengers, particularly in third class, were Irish immigrants hoping to escape their country's revolution for a better life in America. Unfortunately, because of the limited warning steerage received when the Titanic began to founder, very few made it to their port of call.

 **Notes (cont.):** Fanart alert! Tumblr user stardustinjune has beautifully illustrated the last scene in this chapter. You can find it by deleting the spaces and replacing "dot" with "." in the following address:

stardustinjune dot tumblr dot com/post/159682426424/illustration-for-sweetdreamshillary-s-titanic


	11. Strength of Character

**Summary:** It's easy to have courage under the cover of night. The trick is keeping it when sunrise chases the shadows away and there's nothing left to hide behind.

* * *

Yuuri wakes up deliciously sore, sunlight filtering in through the window to paint itself lazily across his face and chest. For a moment he thinks he's still dreaming-the sheets are so soft they can't possibly be real-but as memories of the night before slot into place one by one he gradually turns the same pink as the drapes.

He waits for panic to well up in his stomach like rising water. It'll be here any minute, he thinks. The crippling self-doubt, the fear of rejection. They'll crest over him, devour him, and he'll scramble out of the room so quickly he'll leave after-images.

Five minutes later he's still staring at the canopy of Victor Nikiforov's bed, and the panic hasn't found him yet.

Huh.

An arm slides around his waist, a warm body drawing him close, and Yuuri glances down into a pair of bleary blue eyes nearly obscured by tousled locks of silver hair.

"Good morning," Victor murmurs. His voice is low with sleep, and there's the faintest hint of an accent nipping at the words. It makes Yuuri feel strangely warm, and he feels his mouth quirk up in a soft smile.

"Mm," he agrees. "I've had worse ones."

Victor pushes himself up onto one elbow, watching Yuuri through pale lashes. The scrutiny leaves Yuuri feeling exposed, stripped bare, but there's no judgment in Victor's eyes. He isn't being sized up. He's being admired. It's not a feeling he's used to, but it sends a pleasant heat rushing to his cheeks and the tips of his ears. So it's a feeling he likes.

"I know so little about you," Victor murmurs, one hand rising to trace lazy patterns on Yuuri's bare hip. "Why is that?"

"There isn't much to know," Yuuri replies, letting his eyes slip closed. "I haven't led a complicated life."

"But you're a complicated man." Victor chuckles softly, the sound coming from somewhere deep in his chest. Yuuri can feel it vibrating against his own. "You dance well enough to humiliate the entire Russian ballet, you speak softly to children, you help anyone who asks and plenty who don't. You save lives and bring whole saloons to tears. They should be singing your praises from here to China, so why aren't they?"

Yuuri flushes darkly at the words, keeping his eyes closed just to avoid meeting Victor's and seeing the painful sincerity he's sure is there. If he doesn't look, he can pretend it's idle flattery. That Victor doesn't mean it. It's easier that way.

"Well. I don't get out much."

"You're crossing the Atlantic in the hold of the world's largest ocean-liner."

"Until now, I mean." He opens his eyes, and sure enough Victor's are full of genuine curiosity and admiration. It's overwhelming. "This is… the first time I've left home."

Victor perks up a little, tilting his head to one side. "Home?"

"London," Yuuri explains. "My family… they owned an inn there. Not a big one, just a few rooms and a little restaurant. But it was warm and comfortable and…" His eyes flicker away, his gaze drawn past Victor and out the window. "Anyway. It's gone now."

Victor's face falls. His hand skates over Yuuri's cheek, but he doesn't force eye contact. "…What happened?"

"It burned."

The words come out hollow and heavy. A cloud rolls by outside, slow and steady, marring the horizon before vanishing again. Victor doesn't speak, but Yuuri can feel the way his fingers curl against his cheek.

Silence drags its wings like a wounded bird.

"…But that was years ago." Yuuri sits up, stretching his arms over his head. He doesn't quite shake the sadness from his bones-it's always there, curled deep in his marrow-but he manages an awkward little smile. "It was sad, to lose the inn. To lose my parents. But at least I had them to begin with."

Victor is watching him with a strange expression on his face. It isn't pity-Yuuri thinks he might flee the room if it was-and it isn't concern. Yuuri can't tell what it is, exactly.

"So why now?" Victor asks. "Why cross the ocean?"

Yuuri scratches the back of his neck thoughtfully. "Well… my sister and I survived the fire, but we had nowhere to go that could take the both of us. We had enough money for one ticket to New York though, where the Nishigori family lives. They're good friends of ours." God, how old would the triplets be now? Yuuri will be lucky if he still has to look down to meet their eyes. "So I sent Mari, and I stayed in London with Phichit. Then I saved what I could make with my dancing, and now I finally have enough to follow her to America."

He smiles, and this time it's sincere. "It'll be good to see her again, after so long."

Suddenly Victor is sitting up too, hand curling around the back of Yuuri's neck as he draws him close. Presses their foreheads together. Brushes his nose against Yuuri's. He murmurs something in Russian, low and adoring, and then kisses the smile from Yuuri's lips.

Blinking rapidly, Yuuri stares up at him as they part.

"What… What was that for?"

Victor smiles at him, and it's so soft and so sweet that Yuuri's heart beats like it's trying to escape his chest. "Nothing," Victor assures him. "It's only that I'm in awe of you."

Yuuri turns pink, one hand rising to cover his eyes. Victor gives compliments as though they cost him nothing, as though it's the only natural thing to do, and Yuuri thinks he might drown in them. Choosing to distract himself before he melts into a puddle of embarrassment and Victor has to call a deckhand to come mop him up, he peers out from behind his hand at the clock on the wall. Then his eyes widen.

"Oh god," he whispers. "Is that the time?"

"Hm?" Victor glances over his shoulder. "Must be."

Groaning, Yuuri tips himself out of bed and starts casting about for his clothes. "I've got to get back, it's nearly noon, how on earth did we manage-"

"Yuuri," Victor drawls, and Yuuri turns to see him sprawling prettily in his tangle of sheets. "Come back to bed."

"I can't," Yuuri says, exasperated. "There's no way Phichit hasn't missed me already."

Sighing resignedly, Victor slides out of bed with all the speed and enthusiasm of a lethargic snail. "All right," he concedes. Then he glances back at Yuuri. "But first…" He tilts his head to one side. "Breakfast?"

Yuuri is about to refuse, but his stomach votes loudly in Victor's favor. He flushes darkly.

"Fine," he allows. "Breakfast first. But then I have to get back to steerage-Phichit's probably in a blind panic."

* * *

Phichit isn't in a blind panic, but it's true that he's more than a little worried.

"Yuuri," he calls, starting a third circuit of the steerage deck. "Yuuri? Excuse me, have you seen Yuuri Katsuki? About my height, black hair, vaguely lovesick expression?"

No one seems to have seen Yuuri since the night before. It's a puzzle, Phichit thinks. Yuuri's not the type to disappear without saying anything. But someone dragged Phichit into a dance just after Yuuri's "unexpected" performance, and by the time he made it back to the table both Yuuri and his aristocratic admirer were nowhere to be found.

Very curious.

"Yuuri," he calls again, and hears someone exclaim loudly above him.

Glancing up, he meets the eyes of a first class passenger. The man is clutching at the railing with a sharp, curious expression on his face. Cupping his hand around his mouth the stranger shouts, "Are you looking for Yuuri Katsuki?"

Well. That's unexpected. "Yeah," Phichit calls back. "You seen him?"

The man shakes his head. "No." Then he grins, and the expression is wide enough that it almost splits his face. "But I'm looking for Victor Nikiforov."

For a brief moment Phichit doesn't understand. Then he does, and his grin matches the stranger's tooth-for-tooth.

* * *

Breakfast is something of a languid affair. Victor summons a porter, speaking with him briefly in the private parlor to preserve Yuuri's modesty. The man returns after a brief absence and the smell of hot food and strong coffee filters under the bedroom door. Yuuri's mouth waters.

They eat together in the parlor, draped in matching silk robes and perhaps taking a little more time than is strictly necessary. Yuuri comments favorably on the food, but admits that his favorites are far more difficult to find in an English kitchen.

"My family is Japanese," he explains. "My grandparents came to London with the Great Exhibition, to cook traditional dishes for the guests. They liked it so much they never quite left."

When Victor and Yuuri finally emerge from Victor's stateroom and make their winding way into the bright sunlight of the promenade, they are met by a pair of identical crocodile grins.

Instinctively, Yuuri takes a step back. Victor just blinks. "Chris," he acknowledges slowly. "Phichit."

Chris flutters a hand in greeting. "Good morning," he purrs. "Or is it good afternoon, now? My, how the day has flown. I hope you don't mind, I thought I'd invite Mr. Katsuki's charming friend, Mr. Chulanont, to join me for a few drinks. Since I was denied the pleasure of your own delightful company this morning."

Phichit raises an expensive-looking glass in a playful toast. "It seems, Mr. Giacometti, that they've been otherwise engaged."

Chris's fingers fly to his lips in feigned shock. "Why, Mr. Chulanont, what a suggestion!" He taps his cheek thoughtfully. "Although-and I do believe I mentioned this, Mr. Chulanont-this is the first I've seen of Mr. Nikiforov since yesterday noon."

"How shocking," Phichit says, his grin wide and unapologetic. "And didn't I mention, Mr. Giacometti, that Mr. Katsuki disappeared from the third class saloon last night in Mr. Nikiforov's company-and since we share a room, I happened to observe that he never made it back to his own bed."

There are quite a few empty glasses on the table between Phichit and Chris, and Yuuri counts them simply to keep himself from fainting dead away in horrified embarrassment.

"Mr. Chulanont," Chris gasps.

"Mr. Giacometti!" Phichit replies.

"You don't suppose-"

"I wouldn't dare."

"What a scandal!"

"To be sure!" Phichit cackles, snatching something up off the ground. "Oh god, your faces. Hold still, I need to preserve this moment." The item turns out to be his camera, and Yuuri barely has time to duck out of frame before there's a flash and a whir, Victor's face-his smile-captured forever on film.

"Well," Victor says brusquely, clapping his hands together to cut off the playful chatter of their mutual friends. "While Yuuri and I would love to join you, it's rather painfully obvious that you're enjoying each other's company more than is strictly appropriate. And we'd hate to interrupt. So we'll leave you to it."

His hand closes around Yuuri's, and Yuuri feels himself being tugged toward the aft stair.

"Now just a minute," Chris cries, struggling to stand but swaying a little. "You're not getting away without-"

"Yuuri," Phichit calls. "Come on, don't go, I have so many questions-"

But Yuuri and Victor have already broken into a dead run, ducking past shocked passengers and crewmen alike as they make their bid for escape. They make it to the stairs and dash down them, breathless with laughter, as Chris and Phichit's indignant cries fade and merge with the sound of the ship's roaring engines.

* * *

 **Notes:** A special thanks once again to stardustinjune for another beautiful illustration! You can find it by deleting the spaces and replacing "dot" with "." in the following address:

stardustinjune dot tumblr dot com/post/160553493034/finally-painted-that-one-sketch-from

The RMS Titanic's staterooms were its pride and joy. While in third class the passengers mostly bunked together in groups separated by gender, first class enjoyed a selection of staterooms. They were decorated like suites in an British country manor, and had anywhere between one and four rooms. I've spoiled Victor a little and put him in one of two deluxe suites, each of which had two bedrooms, two walk-in wardrobes, a parlor, a lavatory, and a private bathroom along with a fifty-foot private promenade deck. In this fiction, Lilia Baranovskaya occupies the only other deluxe sweet. In actuality the suites were occupied by Mrs. Charlotte Drake Cardeza and Bruce Ismay, the chairman of the White Star line.


	12. Sérénade de Mélancolique

**Summary:** Find someone who will listen. When you talk, when you laugh, when you play half-baked compositions in a freezing cargo hold on an out-of-tune grand piano. Find someone who listen.

* * *

The ship is enormous. It makes disappearing almost laughably easy.

Victor and Yuuri meander around the steerage deck for a little while, their fingers tangling now and then before drifting apart again as they point out interesting passengers or features on the ship. Victor memorizes the tiny furrow between Yuuri's eyebrows when he doesn't understand something Victor has said. Makes a note of the dimples he hopes to kiss later, when they're alone.

They run into Yurio, who is determinedly practicing pliés near the stern and using the railing as a makeshift barre.

"Yurio," Victor calls.

The boy looks up sharply and Victor sees the flash of delight that illuminates his features before he manages to school them into a scowl.

"Should've known you two would be sneaking around somewhere," Yurio says, and returns his attention to his pliés. Yuuri lets go of Victor's hand to correct his posture, and Yurio doesn't complain as his knees are adjusted very slightly. "Phichit was looking for you earlier."

"He found me," Yuuri assures him. Then, as an afterthought, "But maybe if he comes looking again, don't tell him you've seen us?"

Yurio sniffs. "Like I'd tell him anything. He's so nosy."

"You're getting good at that," Victor says, gesturing at Yurio's out-turned feet.

Yurio nods, as though this is obvious and only barely worth acknowledging. "Yeah. I'm going to be a ballerina, so I have to practice, but Yuuri says I'm already pretty good."

Victor hums. "Will you have a teacher in New York?"

Yurio's footing goes funny and he wobbles a little. Yuuri steadies him gently.

"Well…" Yurio looks suddenly hesitant, gaze flickering from Victor to Yuuri. "I want to. But my uncle says ballet is for girls, and. It's expensive. So probably not." He sets his jaw stubbornly. "But I'm gonna teach myself! I'm gonna practice really hard, and if he doesn't like it that's too bad."

Victor laughs, and it comes out kind instead of mocking. "I'm sure you'll make him eat his words."

Yurio shrugs the reassurance off, but Victor can tell he's pleased. Then he wrinkles his nose. "Go away," he says. "You're distracting me."

They bid him ignored farewells, fingers twining again as they meander away.

Yurio's tirade has reminded Victor of the dance the night before, and now he realizes he could always see the dancer in the way Yuuri moves. There's an unconscious rhythm to him, a kind of internal music that Victor can almost hear if he watches closely enough. It's in the turn of his head, the slant of his shoulders, the swing of his feet. Victor thinks, a composer would pay gold or silver just to follow Yuuri around. He could inspire symphonies.

Yuuri's fingers flutter to illustrate a point, and Victor hears the trill of a piccolo.

"Hm?" he says, coming back to earth at Yuuri's curious look.

"I said," Yuuri repeats, "What were you doing in London? You've told me your family is Russian, and here you are going from England to America. I can't figure it out."

"I was studying," Victor answers easily. "I graduated from Oxford this year."

Yuuri's eyebrows shoot up. "…Oxford," he says slowly, eyes facing forward again. "Right."

Victor is puzzled by this reaction. "What's wrong with Oxford?"

"Nothing," Yuuri says hurriedly. "It's just. Oxford is for noblemen and politicians. It's hard to imagine you there." He flushes, seeming to realize what he's implied. "Not that- I'm not trying to say you're not aristocratic, because obviously you are. It's just. It's just that you're…" He struggles for a moment before settling on, "Kind. You're kind."

Victor's world goes sideways for a brief moment because, while he's been the subject of more compliments than he can or wants to count, this is a new one. He finally finds his tongue long enough to say, "Thank you."

It's just like Yuuri, he thinks, to give others credit for virtues Yuuri extolls as easily as breathing. Because while Victor is certainly charming-he's spent too much time practicing smiles in front of a mirror to deny it-Yuuri is good. Victor has manners but Yuuri has a soul.

The sun is already past its zenith and sinking toward the prow of the ship, one horizon indistinguishable from another on the open ocean. Surrounding them is an endless expanse of blue-grey sea and sky and Victor catches himself hoping they never reach shore. That the sea just keeps unfurling ahead of them forever, mile after mile, day after day, the horizon always in sight but never quite close enough to claim. Maybe then, he thinks, this can last.

In his pocket, the necklace is an anchor.

Victor is dragged out of his thoughts when Yuuri grabs his hand, pulling him behind a strut. He stumbles a bit as he follows, and just barely catches a glimpse of Chris and Phichit further up the deck. Unfortunately, Phichit's eyes are quicker than he is.

"There," Victor hears him shout, and then Yuuri is tugging him down a long corridor and the rush drags another laugh out of Victor, short and sharp and shocked, and Yuuri flashes him a grin. It chases away the shadows of Victor's thoughts, urges him to run faster, and soon he's keeping pace with Yuuri as they backtrack and sidle and sneak their way deeper into the belly of the ship.

"It's louder down here," Victor observes.

"Closer to the engines," Yuuri explains as they come out into an enormous room. Victor recognizes it as the cargo hold, and can't help a little exclamation of surprise at the mountainous stacks of trunks and parcels.

"How'd you find this place?"

Yuuri shrugs, but his smile is a little smug. "You think this is the first time I've had to hide from Phichit on this voyage? He's a good friend, but we're very different people. Sometimes I just need a break."

"Of course," Victor says without thinking, and then frowns. "I hope… I'm not intruding, then?"

"You?" Yuuri's eyebrows shoot up. "No! No. Not at all."

Victor relaxes a little, and the two of them set to exploring the massive space. They find a large pile of what looks like bundled golf equipment, a fancy car someone must be paying a lot of money to transport, and-to Victor's delight-a piano.

"It's a little out-of-tune," he says after shoving a box close enough to sit on, "But that's probably just the cold. And it doesn't sound too bad."

He taps out a couple of warm-ups while Yuuri watches him curiously. "I didn't know you played."

"Oh, I don't. Not really. But I took lessons when I was a boy. My instructor was always so frustrated, I never liked sticking to what was on the page. Eventually she gave up on me because I wouldn't stop improvising."

Victor's fingers meander across the keys, coaxing a few notes from the impressive instrument. It's a very nice piano, he observes. No doubt it's on a journey from one very expensive parlor to another.

A stronger caress and the piano sings a little louder. Then Victor sets both hands to the keys and begins to play.

It's Tchaikovsky. Or it starts out as Tchaikovsky. Somewhere in the sixth measure it changes, turns into something else, gains its own life. Victor closes his eyes and tries to remember Yuuri, walking next to him on the promenade. He tries to play the rhythm of his steps, the turn of his head, but it isn't quite right. Then his mind wanders to the night before, passion and heat, and further back to that moment in the corridor. The music turns sweet and soft, uncertain but hopeful.

He plays the last three days in reverse. Dancing, dinner, Yuuri twirling Yurio to the joyous strains of the fiddle. And then, without really meaning to, he plays the railing.

The music twists. It's lonely, empty, a cry in the dark. Victor's fingers stutter on the keys and he doesn't know when he started trembling but he can't seem to stop.

A hand settles on his shoulder. Victor's fingers go still, fall to his lap.

The engines roar beneath their feet, but the silence is deafening. For a long time neither of them speak.

"Victor." Yuuri's voice is soft. "Will you tell me?"

"Tell you what." You know what. Coward.

Behind him, Yuuri takes a deep breath. "Why you were out there, that night."

Victor closes the cover over the keys, but doesn't stand. He stares at his hands, pale against shiny black.

Then he speaks.

"You have to understand," he says, and the words taste like ash. "I'm very lucky."

Yuuri says nothing.

"I know I am," Victor continues. "I'm not under any illusions about my situation. I'm well-bred and moneyed. I'm part of a very impressive family."

No reaction. Yuuri is as silent as the grave, and somehow this makes it easier.

"My parents sent me to England when I was twelve." The dam cracks, and the words tumble out. "I didn't want to go, but it was important for me to be well-educated. In the summer I was sent to socialize with other children in my parents' circles-Chris, the Crispino twins, a few sons of English noblemen. So I was very busy, and so were my parents. We exchanged letters, but not often. My parents had much more important letters to write, I suppose.

"They moved to America when I was fifteen. My father had invested in the railroad. A portion of our money comes from the Trans-Siberian, so it only made sense to chase that profit. They told me in a letter, and explained that it would be very expensive for me to visit. I understood, of course. It was all for me, really. For their legacy."

Victor falls silent, fingers tracing a pattern on the dark wood.

"…They died, two months ago." He swallows. "I hadn't seen them in more than a decade."

Yuuri's fingers twitch on his shoulder, but he doesn't dare look back. And he can't stop the flood of words, isn't sure if he wants to. Maybe if he pours enough words into the emptiness inside of him he can fill it, walk across it, leave it behind.

"I received a letter from the family lawyer, and a box. The letter was for me. The box was for this."

He pulls the necklace out of his pocket and tosses it carelessly on the lid of the piano, where it clatters noisily before coming to rest, the enormous blue diamond winking flirtatiously up at the ceiling.

Yuuri doesn't ask. He doesn't have to. "The Nikiforov diamond," Victor explains darkly. "The largest blue diamond in the world. It's been in our family for centuries, and now it's mine. But it's not a necklace. It's a collar, and it's dragging me to an empty estate in a country I've never visited so that I can become what I was born to be: the dutiful son of two dead strangers."

Behind him, Yuuri finally moves. He leans forward, and Victor can feel the length of Yuuri's body pressing against his back. Strong arms come around his chest, and Victor's mind flies unbidden to that night on the railing. It had been just like this, he thinks. Victor on a precipice, nothing between him and oblivion but Yuuri's arms. Yuuri's strength.

"How do you do it," Victor asks, and his voice is ragged with unshed tears. "You've lost your parents. Your home. How do you hold the pieces together? How do you stop yourself from falling apart?"

Yuuri's arms tighten until the embrace is almost painful. His chin comes to rest on Victor's shoulder, and after a moment he answers.

"I don't." His voice is so quiet Victor has to strain to hear. "I do fall apart. All the time. Sometimes I'll go for a month without shattering, sometimes it happens so fast and so often that there's no time to pick up the pieces. Everything goes grey and I start to forget if I ever saw in color." Yuuri's breath shudders across Victor's cheek and while his voice shakes, his arms are as sturdy as stone.

"But I always find the color again," he says. "Eventually."

They stay like that for a long time, Yuuri's arms wrapped tight around Victor's chest in the belly of the Titanic. The engines roar and the floor trembles but Victor has never felt more still.

When Yuuri's arms finally slide away, Victor worries for a moment that they're the only thing keeping him whole. But his hands are still there at the ends of his arms, his legs still lead to his feet, and his head must still be on his shoulders because he turns it to look up at Yuuri and Yuuri is smiling at him and suddenly everything seems so much more simple.

"Come on," Yuuri says, and jerks his head toward the exit. "I wanna show you something."

Victor follows him out. He almost forgets the necklace.

* * *

When they reach the promenade a few passengers stop to greet Yuuri. He answers them with smiles and nods but doesn't stop to chat, leading Victor along the deck in an unwavering line until, after what feels like an hour, they reach the stem.

The sun is setting now, and most of the passengers have gone in for dinner. The few still wandering pay Victor and Yuuri little mind, too wrapped up in their own private joys and tragedies to care much for anyone else's. Victor assumes Yuuri is taking him to the steerage open space, but instead of turning Yuuri just keeps walking. Eventually the railing dead-ends, and they're standing on the tapered prow of the RMS Titanic.

It's a nice view, Victor has to admit. Nothing but open ocean as far as the eye can see, but it's nothing they couldn't have seen from any place on the promenade.

"Very pretty," he allows, not wanting to be rude.

Yuuri rolls his eyes and nudges Victor until he's standing at the apex of the railing, looking out ahead of the ship. Then he comes to stand behind him, arms looping around his waist. Victor glances at him quizzically, but Yuuri just smiles.

"Close your eyes."

Victor does as he's told without hesitation.

"Face forward."

Again he obeys, curiosity and Yuuri's voice egging him on.

"Okay. Open."

Victor opens his eyes and has to catch his breath.

From this angle, standing so close to the prow, the ship itself is invisible. All he can see-the entire expanse of his vision-is the ocean, waves capped with white, endless and expansive and beyond comprehension. Ahead of them-directly ahead-the sun is just dipping into the sea. Its reflection is a road of golden light, broad and sparkling, reaching out across the water toward Victor and calling him onward. His heart pounds in his chest and the salt spray dapples his cheeks.

And Yuuri is there, his arms solid and strong, unflinching at Victor's back. Victor thinks in dizzying wonderment that he will never have a more perfect moment than this one, standing with Yuuri at the edge of infinity as the wind roars and the sea flies by.

It's over too quickly. The sun sinks lower on the horizon, the air turns cold, Victor feels Yuuri shiver against his back.

"Let's go inside," he says, his lips against Victor's ear to be heard over the roaring wind. Victor nods.

As they walk away, he casts one last glance over his shoulder at the sunset. It's nothing special, really. The sun sets every day. But it's the most beautiful sunset he's ever seen.

For the RMS Titanic and more than fifteen-hundred souls on board, it is the last.

* * *

 **Notes:** The last scene in this chapter takes place on April 14 1912, 8:00 PM. It was the last time the RMS Titanic, and more than three-quarters of her passengers, ever saw the sun.

 **Notes (cont'd):** Fanart alert! To see a gorgeous picture of the piano scene, head over to tumblr user leapinglisa's blog by removing the spaces and replacing "dot" with "." in the following address:

leapinglisa dot tumblr dot com/post/160433409819/heeey-do-you-like-yuri-on-ice-do-you-like-aus


	13. Second Interlude

This is what Otabek knows.

At 10:00 PM, Frederick Fleet and Reginald Lee take over look out duty in the crow's nest of the Titanic. They report calm seas and clear skies. There is no moon.

At 10:50 another ocean liner, the Californian, attempts to inform the Titanic via wireless that they have stopped and are surrounded by ice. Jack Phillips, the wireless operator, cuts them off and tells them to stop jamming his signal.

At 11:39 Frederick Fleet sends his frantic and fateful message to the bridge: "Iceberg, right ahead!"

At 11:40 the Titanic strikes a large Iceberg at 22.5 knots. The Titanic begins to flood. William Murdoch, the first officer, closes the watertight doors.

At midnight, inspections confirm that the ship will stay afloat at most for two hours.

At 12:05 Captain Smith's orders are to prepare the lifeboats and send a distress signal. The signal, "CQD", is a demand for immediate assistance.

It isn't until 12:25, forty-five minutes after the collision, that the crew can begin filling the lifeboats. It takes another twenty for the first to be launched. The crew fires off distress rockets.

For the next twenty minutes, until 2:05, lifeboats are launched quickly and consistently. Many are half-full. First class women and children board first. By now, the water is almost up to the bridge deck.

The last wireless distress signals are sent at 2:10. "We are sinking fast… cannot last much longer." The stern rises out of the water. After this, things happen very quickly.

At 2:17 the radio room loses power and the ship's prow sinks deep enough to lift the stern completely.

At 2:18 the lights flicker and then go out. The forward funnel breaks off and falls into the water.

At 2:19 the Titanic splits. The bow sinks immediately, while the stern remains briefly afloat.

On April 15th, 1912 at 2:20 AM, two hours and forty minutes after colliding with the iceberg, the RMS Titanic sinks-taking 1,503 passengers and crewmen with her. It takes another two hours for help to arrive.

Otabek knows this by heart. He can tell you the exact launch time of each lifeboat, the contents of every frantic radio transmission. He can list the ships that were close enough to help and tell you why they didn't, and he is proud of this knowledge. He is proud to know so many things.

Victor is taking another break. Longer this time, leaving Otabek and Yurio sitting awkwardly in the lab. And while Otabek knows enough about the Titanic to fill several books, he doesn't know what to say to the man next to him.

"…I'm going to take a walk," Yurio says eventually, and stands up.

Otabek stands too, and isn't sure why until he says, "I'll come with you."

He thinks Yurio is about to refuse, but then he just shrugs and strides out of the room. He moves a bit like Victor does, Otabek notices. Like the space belongs to him, so nothing is off-limits.

They emerge onto the deck a moment later, and the sunlight is so bright it nearly blinds them. Yurio glances out at the sea before turning to walk beside the rail, hands stuffed deep into his pockets as the wind off the ocean tosses his golden hair. Otabek doesn't quite jog to keep up, but Yurio is quick. It's a near thing.

"So," Otabek says after a while. "The last day."

Yurio's face twists momentarily, then goes blank again. "Yeah."

Otabek taps out a rhythm on his thigh. He's curious, devastatingly curious, but- "Are you sure Victor's all right to keep going? I don't want to overtax him. It must be an emotional memory."

"He doesn't mind," Yurio says with a shrug. "He likes telling it. I think it helps him." His nose wrinkles slightly as the breeze brings the crisp scent of the ocean to them. "I'm the one who didn't want him to come."

Otabek is about to ask him why when the ship hits a low wave sideways. It lurches unpleasantly and Otabek catches himself against the rail, his hands landing next to Yurio's white-knuckled ones. He glances over and realizes that Yurio's eyes have gone wide with shock, his pupils pinpoints, his cheeks paler than death. His breaths come sharply between clenched teeth, and his shoulders tremble almost imperceptibly.

Panic, Otabek thinks. And then, a flashback.

"Yurio," he says softly, but he isn't sure what to do. He's never witnessed an attack like this in person before. Yurio is staring down at the water, his frame rigid, expression sharp and terrified.

"Yurio," he says again. His voice is a little stronger this time. "Can you hear me?"

Yurio nods stiffly, little more than a jerk of his head.

"Good. Yurio, you're safe. You're safe here. You're going to be all right."

He doesn't respond. His face is still white as a ghost, and Otabek realizes he can't do this by himself.

"I'm going to go get Victor," he says. "Will you be-"

A hand shoots out and grabs his wrist, and Otabek realizes exactly how hard Yurio has been gripping the rail. "Don't," he hisses. "Don't."

Otabek very carefully doesn't flinch. "He's your family," he says instead. "He'll want to know-"

Yurio grits his teeth. "If he sees me like this, he'll send me back to the mainland. I won't leave him here by himself."

Otabek almost argues. But in the end, Yurio is a grown man. His choices are his own. Instead of going for help, Otabek turns his gaze out toward the water. He waits, his wrist still clasped tightly in Yurio's hand.

It takes about ten minutes for Yurio's attack to pass. His grip loosens, fingers finally sliding away completely. There'll be a bruise, Otabek thinks, but it doesn't bother him. Eventually Yurio speaks.

"This," he says, and Otabek meets his eyes. "This never happened."

Otabek doesn't say anything. He isn't sure what he would say. He just nods.

This seems to satisfy Yurio, and he sucks in a deep breath. He closes his eyes, runs his hands through his hair, grounds himself.

It isn't until the long golden tresses are pushed back from Yurio's forehead that Otabek sees it. A white scar, raised and angry, running from the corner of Yurio's eye up and across his temple. It's big, splintering off in several places as though the wound was a ragged one, and Otabek bites his tongue to stop himself from asking.

They stay on the deck for a while, looking out to sea, before JJ leans around the cabin door to wave them in. It seems Victor is ready to continue his story.

The two of them head inside, but before they do Otabek catches one last glimpse of Yurio's face. There's a faint sheen of sweat on his brow and he's still a little pale, but these are the only outward indicators of his attack. His eyes are hard, determined.

The eyes of a soldier.


	14. Impact

**Summary:** Usually the worst moment of your life is big. Loud. Obvious. But sometimes it's so subtle you don't even realize it's happened.

* * *

It happens like this:

Phichit and Chris don't notice the collision.

They're in the first class swimming pool, which is technically closed but money opens doors and Chris has cash to burn. There's a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice nearby but it's mostly full-they drank plenty on deck, and are hoping the cool water will sober them up a bit.

At 11:40, Chris asks Phichit another technical question about his camera. Phichit answers eagerly.

Victor and Yuuri notice, but don't give it much thought.

The library is empty this time of night, the second class passengers who usually occupy it having retired to bed. Yuuri can hear a few revelers drifting about outside but they have the massive room completely to themselves. Victor presses another lazy kiss to his jaw, and Yuuri makes a soft sound of encouragement.

At 11:40, the world trembles. Yuuri assumes it's his imagination.

Yurio notices.

He's in his bunk, but he's wide awake. His uncle's loud snores and the rumbling of the engines just beneath him battle for his attention and they're both winning. He covers his ears with his hands, closes his eyes tight, tries to think of silence.

At 11:40, the ship lurches sickeningly. Yurio grabs at the rail of his bunk, eyes darting open, and gasps. He climbs out of bed, tries to shake his uncle awake, but the man snarls at him to go back to sleep. The words smell like cheap vodka.

Far above, on the bridge of the Titanic, the captain is summoned. Inspections are called. Messages are sent.

Far below, in the belly of the Titanic, rivets pop. Sea water, cold as the ice that carved its way, finds every gap it can fill and fills it.

In between the bridge and the belly, the world is still again. For now. But the ship's fate has already been sealed.

The RMS Titanic has begun to sink.

* * *

 **Notes:** Exactly who is responsible for the sinking of the Titanic has been debated over and over since the disaster. The captain demanded too much speed, White Star demanded too few lifeboats, the designer ordered inferior steel, the builders welded the hull incorrectly. But really, the answer is much more complicated.

The answer is, the ice field had been traversed many times at that speed by ships of a similar size. The answer is, when the Titanic was built the law only required that she have enough lifeboats to transfer the passengers-one group at a time-to a rescue ship. The answer is, the steel was fine. The answer is, the bolts were up to spec.

It shouldn't have happened, but it did. Accidents do.


	15. Precious Illusions

**Summary:** People often say that the truth can't hurt you. That you're better off knowing all the facts. Strictly speaking, that isn't always accurate.

Sometimes the truth has teeth. Sometimes it's hungry.

* * *

Victor and Yuuri emerge from the library hand-in-hand, Yuuri blushing and Victor trying to suppress a somewhat telling smile. He's having minimal success, and that only makes Yuuri blush harder.

There are an unusual number of crewmen moving about the ship, considering it's after midnight. Yuuri steps aside as a pair of them hurry past, faces hard and focused, on their way to perform some urgent errand.

"That's odd," he murmurs, mostly to himself. Victor hums agreement beside him.

As they make their way toward the prow, Yuuri catches sight of a group of young men on the steerage deck below. They're laughing, kicking around pieces of something blocky and white. It skids and clatters across the deck, and Yuuri frowns as he tilts his head to one side.

"What's that?"

Victor squints a little. "It looks like ice. Chunks of ice."

They watch the young men for a while, puzzling over this conundrum. Then Yuuri snaps his fingers. "You know, I thought I felt something earlier."

Victor almost purrs. "I felt it too."

Yuuri smacks him lightly on the arm with a snort of amusement. "Not that. Like a… shudder, you know? I think the ship must have grazed an iceberg. I heard there were a lot of them in this part of the ocean."

"Huh."

They wander a little further along the deck. Yuuri isn't worried, really. The Titanic is unsinkable, everyone knows it, and surely a little skid against an iceberg isn't the end of the world. But there's a strange tension in the air. More and more crewmen dart past, a few glancing in Victor and Yuuri's direction, before one finally stops.

"Sirs," he says, a little uncertain and very definitely uncomfortable. "Have you- Has anyone-"

Victor reaches out to place a steadying hand on the man's shoulder. "Easy," he says, and offers him a winning smile.

Yuuri knows that smile. Knows how it makes all the tension drop out of him through his feet, but the man doesn't look mollified.

"The captain," the man says, taking a steadying breath, "Requests that all passengers report to the Boat Deck."

Yuuri blinks. Frowns. "Why?"

The man turns his gaze on Yuuri, and Yuuri can see that in spite of the dim light his pupils are pinpoints. The man is terrified.

"Just a formality," he says.

Yuuri's heart drops into his stomach. "Right," he answers slowly. "Of course."

The crewman hurries away, and Victor makes a curious sound. "Odd," he says. "Must be a drill or something."

Yuuri feels sick.

"Must be."

* * *

Chris wakes to an insistent rapping on the door. He's only been asleep for a few minutes, hair still damp from the pool, and he makes an unhappy sound before rolling over-

And promptly falling off the settee he flung himself onto when the bed seemed like too far to walk.

"Ugh," he tells the carpet, then pushes himself to his feet, dragging himself over to the door and opening it a crack. He's already preparing a few choice words for whoever is on the other side-all of them blisteringly polite-when his eyes meet those of a first class porter.

"Sir," the porter says, and before Chris can answer he's speaking in a clipped, formal tone. "I apologize for the late hour. Captain Smith requests that all passengers proceed to the Boat Deck."

"What?" Chris asks, bemused. But the porter has already flitted away, headed for the next door in the passageway. Chris peers down the hall and sees other passengers stepping out in their nightclothes, yawning and shooting one another curious glances. He stares for a moment, then retracts his head and turns to face the room.

"Phichit," he says, voice still rough with sleep.

A dark head rises slowly from the armchair by the window. Phichit makes a noise that sounds a bit like a disgruntled hippopotamus. "Hrugh?"

"I think something's gone wrong."

* * *

The Boat Deck is chaos. Yuuri finds himself holding tightly to Victor's arm, eyes scouring the crowd for familiar faces. Beside him Victor is still lightly confused. He blinks down at the crewman who presses a lifebelt into his hands.

"Cold night for a swim," he says, and the crewman gives a high-pitched laugh before hurrying to the next group of passengers.

"Yuuri," he starts, but Yuuri interrupts him.

"I need to find Phichit," he says, and Victor nods amiably. They find a nearby crewman and ask after the steerage passengers.

"They've been asked to gather at the gates leading up to the Boat Deck," the crewman explains. "We don't want things to get too crowded, do we?"

Victor gives the man a polite smile and thanks him. The moment the man turns away, a gloved hand snatches Yuuri's shoulder.

He turns with a yelp and freezes when he's caught in the cold gaze of Lilia Baranovskaya.

"Mrs. Baranovskaya," he manages, remembering his manners at the last moment. Behind him Victor goes still.

"Katsuki," she says, then turns her eyes on Victor. "Nikiforov."

Victor coughs uncomfortably. "Madame-"

"Not now," she snaps. "Now, you listen to me. You never once listened to my husband, you owe him this much."

Victor closes his mouth so fast Yuuri hears his teeth click.

"Good," Lilia says with a nod. "I've just had a word with the captain."

Yuuri's eyebrows jump, but he doesn't speak.

"These idiots, they're laughing and joking like this is all some kind of farce." Her eyes meet Yuuri's. "But you know better, don't you?"

Somewhere behind them, Yuuri can hear the crew shouting for women and children to move to the front. His blood runs cold.

"Exactly," she says, watching his expression.

"How long?" Victor asks, his voice hollow. His arm is tense under Yuuri's hands.

Lilia straightens, and her impassive mask slips just a bit. "Two hours," she says, her voice a little softer now.

"But the lifeboats-"

"Not nearly enough of them," she says, and Yuuri watches her shoulders. They don't shake, but he can see the slope of them clearly under her coat. She looks resigned.

Two hours, Yuuri thinks. And then, a lot of people are going to die.

"Victor," he says, his tone tense.

Victor sets his jaw. He nods sharply to Lilia.

"Right," he says, blue eyes hard. Somewhere nearby a man laughs and lights a cigar, ignoring the crewman tugging at his wife's arm. "Let's go."

It takes them a while to get to the stairs. The Boat Deck is crowded, and they're fighting the current of bodies. Victor slips a bit on a piece of ice and Yuuri has to grab at his waist to keep him from disappearing under the press of the masses. Eventually the crowd thins out and they make it to the stairs.

There's no attendant at this gate. Probably helping to load the lifeboats, Yuuri thinks distantly. There are a few people on the other side but not many-clearly the third class passengers were the last to be informed. Still, one of them Yuuri recognizes.

"Mr. Plisetski," he says, hands stilling where he's already started to jimmy the lock. "What-"

"Hurry it up," the man demands gruffly, jostling the bars. Yuuri fumbles with the lock. When it finally clicks open, the older man pushes through. Yuuri snatches at his sleeve.

"Mr. Plisetski," he says again, his tone pleading, "Where is-"

The man tears out of his grip, and Yuuri stumbles a bit. That's when Yuuri sees them.

Two lifebelts, in Mr. Plisetski's hand. And Yuuri realizes with a cold certainty that something is terribly wrong.

He doesn't try to stop the man. It isn't worth it. But he meets Victor's eyes and knows they're both thinking the same thing.

Whatever happens next, they have to find Yurio.

* * *

 **Notes:** One of the many reasons the death toll in the Titanic accident was so high is, unfortunately, the general refusal by her passengers and crew to believe that anything was really wrong. They'd been told so often and with such confidence that the Titanic was unsinkable that it was nearly impossible for them to believe the truth. Even as the crew tried, reluctantly, to fill the lifeboats, passengers were organizing football matches using the chunks of ice sheared from the iceberg as the ball. Others were ordering drinks, chatting, or listening to the orchestra. Very few agreed to enter the lifeboats at all until the ship started to visibly list.


	16. The Water Rises

**Summary:** We like to believe the world is full of honest people, decent people, people who do what they can for one another. We like to think they're everywhere, and that anyone-given the chance-can be one of them.

We believed in unicorns once, too.

* * *

The corridors in steerage are well-lit, but crowded. Now that word has finally trickled down through third class people are drifting out of their rooms, complaining all the while. A few look nervous or upset, but for the most part they share the flippant attitude of the passengers on the Boat Deck.

Victor tugs Yuuri against the wall of the corridor as a group meanders by, staying out of the way until they've passed. One of the young women toward the back is chatting amiably with her friend.

"You don't think we'll be outside long, do you? Cold night, and me in my nightie too!"

The other woman laughs. "Don't worry, Ez. It's probably some sort of mix-up. We'll be back in our bunks before you know it, and your Jason'll never have to see you in that ugly lifebelt."

Ez flushes darkly. "Don't you run your mouth about that, me mum's here-"

The conversation is cut off as Ez and her friend disappear around the corner, but Victor can still hear their laughter as he and Yuuri continue down the twisting maze of corridors. He's never been to this part of the ship, and he's struck dumb by the difference between these narrow halls and the vast, carpeted corridors of the upper decks.

Someone has left their door standing open, and he catches a glimpse of the room as they fly past. Two bunk beds, with barely enough room between them to stand in. Does Yuuri's room look like this?

He supposes it doesn't matter now. Turning his attention to the matter at hand, he forces himself to keep going.

Periodically they stop and ask other passengers if they've seen the Plisetski boy. There aren't a surplus of children on the ship and Yurio's abrasive nature means he's pretty well-known, but while plenty of people recognize the description no one has seen him tonight.

It's clear that Yuuri is getting desperate, and Victor can feel panic edging into his own mind. Yurio is alone somewhere in this labyrinth, and they're running out of time.

Half an hour after their search began, steerage is almost empty. They haven't run into any other passengers for some time, so they're a bit surprised when a young man bolts around a nearby corner and almost collides with them. He steadies himself against a whitewashed wall, eyes wild, looking more terrified than anyone they've run into so far.

Victor opens his mouth to ask what's happened, but the man is already running again. It doesn't become clear what exactly startled him until they round the next corner.

"Oh god," Yuuri whispers, and Victor freezes mid-step. The floor here is submerged under several inches of water.

Victor swallows the bile that rises in his throat. "It'll be worse further down," he says, and his voice comes out wrong. It comes out raw.

Further down, he realizes, is becoming a more and more accurate description. The ship is listing, and it's clear they're on a very subtle downward slope. Some of the lower levels must be completely underwater.

Yuuri squares his shoulders. Takes a steadying breath.

"You don't have to come," he says. "But I'm going to keep looking."

Beside him, Victor is shocked into stillness. He shakes himself. Sets one foot stubbornly forward, taking care not to wince when the icy water soaks through his bespoke shoes. Soon he's ankle-deep, and he turns to stare down at Yuuri.

"You really think I'd leave you down here?"

Yuuri stares at him with wide eyes for a moment. Then he lunges forward to catch Victor in a brief, hard kiss. It's over in less than a second, Yuuri pulling away to wade down the hall. Victor is already following after him, but the air between them has changed. The nervous energy is gone, replaced by grim determination.

They can do this.

* * *

The first few lifeboats are launched half-full, their occupants consisting of the few volunteers the crewman can talk into them. Most of the passengers-and for that matter, most of the crew-don't seem to believe that anything is really wrong. There's even an orchestra playing in an attempt to keep the passengers entertained.

Chris looks over the crowd from his vantage point standing on a bench near the prow. Phichit is next to him, craning his neck from his slightly lower vantage point.

"Do you see them?"

Chris shakes his head. "Not a hair. Probably still tangled up in each other somewhere warm, the lucky bastards."

Phichit snorts. "Clearly you don't know Yuuri. He'll be panicking by now, thinking the ship's going to capsize or something."

"Hm." Chris frowns as yet another dark-haired man turns around and fails to be Yuuri Katsuki. "Maybe they've already got in a lifeboat, then."

Phichit shrugs. "Maybe."

Chris's footing slips just a bit, and he stumbles a little before realizing why. The bench is… uneven. He steps down, moving to the railing and leaning over to check his hypothesis.

It only takes a moment for his suspicions to be confirmed. The bow is lower than the stern by a not-insignificant margin, and something like seasickness seizes Chris for the first time since the ship's launch.

He returns to the bench, outwardly calm, but his grip on Phichit's arm betrays him.

"We're getting to a lifeboat," he says, his voice low. "Now."

Phichit blinks up at him. "What? But the ship's fine, we-"

Chris shakes his head almost imperceptibly, and Phichit's eyes go wide. He tries to dart away. "I have to find-"

"Like I said, he'll be in a boat already." Chris's grip is unyielding. "And there's no way Victor would let him go alone."

Phichit looks uncertain, and Chris tries a dramatic sigh. It comes out terse. "If you go, I'll have to go after you."

For another long moment, Phichit hesitates. Then he nods, his fingers tight around the handle of his camera case, and follows Chris through the din of the crowd.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Victor is a lot less confident. He doesn't regret his decision-not for a moment-but they haven't seen anyone other than that last frantic young man in quite a while. What if Yurio slipped past them, down another passage? It's possible. What if they're wading deeper into an empty ship?

That's when he hears it.

It's faint, almost inaudible, but the sound itself is unmistakable. Somewhere nearby, a child is crying.

"Yuuri," he says, but Yuuri is already moving. The water is up to their knees now, horribly cold. It hinders their progress, but now that they have a star to sail by they move faster than before. They follow the sound of sobbing to a closed door, and Yuuri doesn't bother knocking. He pries it open-no easy feat with the water pressing in on it-and they both freeze on the threshold.

Yurio is there, crying noisily, cradling his head in his hands. There's no one else in the room, clearly hasn't been for some time. Yurio is alone.

And he's bleeding.

It drips between his fingers from a long, deep wound along his temple. It stains his yellow hair, his ragged white shirt, his pale hands. There's a long, dark streak of red on the white metal frame of the bunk.

"Yurio," Yuuri gasps, rushing forward. Yurio flinches away, head jerking up where he sits on the bottom bunk. The water has risen high enough to soak the mattress, and it squelches as he presses back against the wall.

"Y… Yuuri…?" He looks uncertain. His eyes are a little unfocused.

"He has a concussion," Victor says softly. "He's going to be confused."

"Yes," Yuuri answers, sitting down on the bunk and appearing not to notice as the water soaks through his trousers. "It's me. It's Yuuri. Victor's here, too."

Yurio crawls forward hesitantly, soothed somewhat by friendly voices. He doesn't flinch away from Yuuri's hands when they rise up to brush his hair out of his eyes.

Victor hangs back, not wanting to crowd the frightened boy. "Yuuri," he urges softly, "We need to get out of here."

The water is rising faster now. It's level with the top of the mattress.

Yuuri makes a sound of acknowledgement. "Yurio we're going to get you out of here, okay? We're going to take care of you."

For a moment it looks like Yurio will cringe away again, but then he nods sharply once. Victor steps forward as Yuuri steps back, scooping Yurio up into his arms.

He's far too light. Victor tries hard not to think about it.

Yurio's head comes to rest on Victor's shoulder, and he can feel the blood soaking into his shirt. He ignores it as they step back out into the corridor and make their way-as quickly as they can-to higher ground.

"You know," he says, trying to take Yurio's mind off the nightmarish situation, "If you're lucky, you'll get a nice scar out of this."

"I don't want a scar," Yurio mumbles against his shoulder. The boy is tense, but clearly exhausted. He's trembling. "I want- Ballerinas don't have scars. But my uncle said- He said-"

Yurio hiccups a bit, and Victor rubs soothing circles on his back. They're moving uphill but the water is up to their thighs.

"He went crazy, when the crewman came. They gave me a lifebelt but, but he took it, and I tried to take it back and he- And he-"

Victor remembers the dark smear of blood on the bed frame and feels suddenly colder. "You're all right now," he says, and knows the words don't mean anything. "We've got you."

Yurio goes very quiet, his little body as tense as a drawn bowstring in Victor's arms. They turn to head in the direction of the stairway they'd taken to get to steerage, and stop in their tracks when they notice how much deeper the water is here.

"We can't go this way." Yuuri says what they're both thinking. "If it's this deep here, the stairs will be completely underwater. We'll have to go aft."

Victor nods sharply. "Which way?"

Yuuri jerks his head in the right direction. Victor can no longer tell if the dampness against his shoulder is blood or tears.

If there's any mercy in the world, Victor thinks, Yurio won't remember this. He's young, he's concussed. It's possible tonight will be an empty space in Yurio's memory, a handful of chaotic hours he won't recall.

There are a few things floating in the hallway. A lady's hat, a sheaf of slowly-pulping papers. A scuffed briefcase. Yuuri buffets the hat out of the way. Behind him, Victor holds Yurio a little tighter.

One way or another, he thinks, it'll all be over soon.

* * *

 **Notes:** As I have mentioned earlier, in spite of numerous accusations to the contrary the Titanic did in fact have the number of lifeboats required by law. This is because, in most shipwrecks, the sinking occurs very slowly-particularly when it comes to ships of the Titanic's approximate size. As a result there is usually time to radio a rescue ship and wait for it to arrive. Then the passengers would be ferried, one lifeboat at a time, to the new ship. Because of this practice most cruise liners didn't have enough lifeboats to contain all their passengers at once.

However it is true that many of the lifeboats were only half-full. The reasons for this are complicated, but when the sinking began it was mostly down to the fact that the Titanic's first class passengers-who were allowed to board first-simply refused to believe the ship was really foundering. This, combined with the apathy of the crew, meant that a lot of time and seats were wasted while the third class passengers congregated behind locked gates.

The Titanic had enough lifeboats to accommodate 1,178 people. Only 705 survived.

 **PS:** Leapinglisa has done up a beautiful illustration of the piano scene in Sérénade de Mélancolique! The image has been linked in that chapter if you'd like to see it, and I recommend you do.


	17. Set Adrift

**Summary:** You don't always get to decide where life is taking you, but you do get to decide whether or not to go quietly.

* * *

Yuuri isn't sure how he's navigating now. The corridors all look the same, all empty and white and long, and his feet are so cold he can barely feel them. Behind him he can hear two sets of chattering teeth, but when he looks over his shoulder Victor just smiles with pale lips. In his arms Yurio shivers silently.

The water is waist-deep. It's getting harder to move.

They make their slow way down another long, narrow hall. Yuuri can see his breath, his fingers shake, his head is splitting. Maybe, he thinks-a little madly-they're already dead. Maybe this is their eternity, wandering the desolate, flooded corridors of an abandoned ship. But then Victor catches his trembling hand and he thinks, no.

If this were hell, Victor wouldn't be here.

The hallway dead-ends, and Yuuri almost can't believe it. "I was so sure," he hisses, running his free hand over the cold metal of the wall that shouldn't be here. "I- I must have gotten turned around, I don't-"

The ship lists. A surge of water pours into the corridor, and suddenly the three of them are slammed back into the wall. Yuuri splutters, salt on his tongue as he fights to keep his balance. Victor grabs the frame of one of the cabin doors and pulls himself upright, clutching Yurio tightly with his other arm. "If we don't find those stairs soon-" he gasps, shaking water from his hair.

He doesn't have to finish the sentence. Yuuri nods, forcing himself to his feet and wading against the current. On Victor's shoulder, Yurio whimpers and closes his eyes tightly.

Finally, after what feels like a decade, they reach one of the metal gates. Yurio has fallen into an exhausted sleep on Victor's shoulder, and Yuuri feels himself begin to relax. Now that the lower decks are flooded Yuuri assumes the gates will have been unlatched-surely the first class passengers have been evacuated already-but when he pushes at the grate, it's still locked tight. Dread claws its way up his throat.

Pulling out his tools, Yuuri plunges his hands under the icy surface of the water. The lock is completely submerged, and his hands are numb enough that he can barely feel what he's doing. They slip over the metal again and again, desperation and cold making him clumsy. The water rises to his ribs and so does the panic, welling up inside of him until his heart thunders and his vision blurs.

Yurio lets out a choked cry in his sleep, and when Yuuri looks back he sees Victor trying to lift the boy high enough to keep his feet above the surface. The cold, Yuuri thinks, must be even worse for a body as small as Yurio's.

He forces himself to concentrate, but the lock won't budge. He needs to be able to see what he's doing.

Only one thing to do. Taking a deep breath, Yuuri plunges his head under the water.

It's cold. God, it's so cold. His headache turns blinding, but he refuses to be distracted by the pain. He can see his hands clearly enough, and the lock too, and after another few moments of deliberate work-and a few more frantic breaths-the mechanism finally gives way, and he can shove the gate aside.

Yuuri waves the shivering Victor and Yurio past him, then drags himself slowly up onto the first step.

At that moment a crewman appears at the top of the stairs, and sees victor and Yuuri climbing out of the brackish water. He shouts something, but Yuuri is too muddled from the cold to listen. He urges Victor up the stairs as the man rushes down to meet them.

Yuuri thinks he's going to help, going to offer them some kind of assistance, but instead the crewman grabs Victor's arm.

"That's White Star property," he snarls, and there's a kind of madness in his eyes. A kind of feral insanity. "You can't just- There's an order to these things, you know-"

Yuuri doesn't think. He's too tired to think, too frightened, and Victor's eyes are wide and confused and Yurio is so fragile in his arms. Yuuri pulls back his fist sharply and drives it hard into the crewman's jaw, sending the man spinning back to land heavily against the wall.

"Come on," Yuuri snaps, barely acknowledging Victor's gobsmacked expression as he grabs for the man's arm and tugs him to the top of the stairs. The Boat Deck can't be much farther now.

* * *

Chris and Phichit make it to one of the lifeboats near the prow. Chris smiles winningly at the crewmen, who are trying to goad reluctant first class passengers onto the slatted wooden seats.

"I say," he chimes, and Phichit can barely hear the strain in his voice, "We're game for a bit of yachting."

The crewmen look surprised, but with the other passengers so unwilling to believe that anything could go wrong they're ready to take anyone. Phichit wobbles a little as he's handed into the boat, Chris right behind him. They sit down next to a young couple, the man complaining loudly to his wife that he thinks the entire farce wholly ridiculous.

Chris silently hands Phichit a lifebelt. Phichit puts it on.

Ten more minutes pass as the crewmen beg and cajole the other passengers. A few more trickle into the boat before the crewman nearest Phichit sighs tersely and gives the order to lower the boat into the water. The ropes winch out, and the world is suddenly much darker as the little craft is lowered away from the gleaming lights of the Boat Deck and down, down, down toward the icy water below.

Suddenly Phichit is scrabbling at the side as the lifeboat lurches unpleasantly.

No, he realizes. Not the lifeboat.

The ship has begun to list in earnest now, the bow dipping toward the water in a way all the passengers can perceive. It's hard to hear anything from the deck above them, but Phichit is certain someone screams.

He looks at the faces of the other people in the lifeboat. They're pale and drawn, tense. Next to them, the young couple huddle closer together. The man isn't complaining anymore. Phichit can see now that his wife is heavily pregnant.

Chris wraps an arm around Phichit's shoulders just as the lifeboat touches down on the black-glass surface of the Atlantic. Neither of them speak.

* * *

Pandemonium, Victor thinks as they finally push their way out onto the Boat Deck of the foundering ship. Utter pandemonium.

Everywhere people are screaming, crying, calling out to each other. A woman clings to her husband as crewmen grip her shoulders, attempting to drag her into a quickly-filling lifeboat.

"It's all right Delilah," he tries to comfort her. "There- There are plenty of boats for the gentlemen, just- You've got to go first, love. Be strong for me, eh?"

Their progress is slow. Passengers and crewmen throng along the deck, moving erratically and all in different directions. It's almost as difficult to push their way through the crowd as it was to wade through the chest-deep water below.

"There," Yuuri says, pointing to a lifeboat up ahead. It isn't full yet, as the crewmen manning it are being very strict about who they allow onboard.

"Over here!" Yuuri shouts, waving his arms. "A child, there's a child here!"

The nearest crewman's head jerks up, and he barks an order for the other passengers to clear the way. "Move, for god's sake! There's a little boy back there!"

To Victor's shock, the passengers part to let them through. They arrive, soaked and panting, beside the boat and Victor jumps when he looks up into the face of Lilia Baranovskaya.

She's sitting in the middle of the lifeboat, her arm wrapped around a weeping young woman from third class. She catches sight of Victor and Yuuri and her shoulders go slack, relief flashing across her face.

"Where's the boy's mother?"

Victor's attention is dragged back to the crewman in front of him. He shakes his head. "He's an orphan," he explains. "No mother."

The man seems to consider. His lip is split, and there's a bit of blood clotting in his mustache. An altercation, no doubt, with a panicking passenger.

"One of you can accompany the boy," he says after a long moment. "The other will have to stay."

Victor feels as though he's had the breath punched out of him. He stares up at the crewman in horror, but as he opens his mouth to argue a slender hand settles on his elbow.

He turns to face Yuuri, and cold dread fills his stomach when he sees his expression.

"No," he begs, his voice cracking. "No. Yuuri, no, you can't be-"

"Listen to me," Yuuri commands, and Victor feels suddenly as though the words are trapped in his throat. "You can give him a good life. The kind I could never give him. You can send him to a good school, you can keep him warm and fed. What do I have to offer?"

Yuuri laughs, and the sound is sad. Empty. "No, Victor, it's obvious who has to go." He smiles, a fragile watery thing, but his hand doesn't tremble. "You have to do this. He needs you."

Victor can't breathe. He can't think. Yuuri pulls him down into a long, slow kiss and then the crewmen are handing him into the boat. He wants to turn around, wrench free, but his vision is swimming and his limbs feel weak. Lilia takes his elbow, pulls him down onto the wooden bench beside her.

He's the last passenger to board. Yurio shifts sleepily against him as the lifeboat is winched over the side, and all he can see is Yuuri's smile. Yuuri's soft eyes. Yuuri's unflinching courage.

The world snaps into focus. Victor sets his jaw. Turns.

"Lilia."

It's the first time he's ever addressed her so informally. She blinks, shocked, and opens her mouth to answer. He doesn't let her get a word out.

"I need you to do something for me." It takes every ounce of strength in his body to let Yurio go, easing the sleeping boy into Lilia's arms as he stands up in the boat. One of the crewman shouts at him to sit down, but he barely hears it.

"I need you to take care of him."

She stares up at Victor, uncomprehending. Then the surprise melts away to be replaced by understanding and hard determination. She nods.

When Victor jumps, the boat shudders. He grabs the railing of one of the lower promenade decks, much closer to the water than it had been just moments ago. He knows without looking the moment that Yurio wakes.

That scream, he thinks, will haunt him for the rest of his life.

However long that is.

* * *

 **Notes:** Chris and Phichit, in this story, find themselves launched at 12:55 in Lifeboat 6. All of the lifeboats were numbered and their launch times fairly accurately noted by the crewmen manning them. Lifeboat 6 was notorious for two reasons: first, she was launched less than half-full. And second, one of her passengers was the famous Margaret "Molly" Brown we learned about in On Fairy Godmothers.

Molly's proxy, Lilia, waits a bit longer before boarding the lifeboats. She and Yurio don't see their escape for another forty minutes, until Lifeboat 16 is launched at 1:35.

Count the minutes. Remember the timeline in the Second Interlude?


	18. A Path Divided

**Summary:** "If you love someone, you can never really lose them."

Bullshit. The world is huge and full of dead-ends. People get lost all the time.

* * *

Yuuri has already turned away from the railing-the expression on Victor's face is too lost, and he can't bear to watch-when he hears the scream. It splits the air, long and loud and unmistakably Yurio's. Yuuri whips around, grasping the railing with both hands as he stares down at the lifeboat being lowered toward the inky black water below.

Yurio is there, he notes with relief, but Victor isn't holding him. Instead Lilia has both arms wrapped around the boy as he struggles, arms flailing and feet kicking out viciously, to escape her. He's reaching out toward the ship, and Yuuri only has to look for a second to see Victor hauling himself over the rail several floors down.

"Victor!" he shouts, not knowing what else he can possibly say. "What- What are you-"

The shouting draws Yurio's attention up. When he sees Yuuri he shrieks again, wordless and desperate, driving his elbow into Lilia's ribs as hard as he can. But Lilia has raised two children, and while her frame may be narrow it hides a dancer's strength. She bows her body over Yurio's, smothering his flailing limbs as he fights like a tiger to escape her.

Something twists in Yuuri's chest at the sight, but he knows Yurio is safe with Lilia. Whatever happens to them, at least he'll be all right.

Victor, on the other hand.

Yuuri pushes away from the railing, the sound of Yurio's screams echoing in his ears. As he fights his way through the crowd it seems to follow him, even when the din of hundreds of frightened voices should have long since drowned it out.

* * *

A few passengers reach out to help Victor as he clambers over the railing. Someone-a young man, he thinks-is shouting at him, calling him a fool, but he doesn't stick around to explain himself. He has to find Yuuri.

Prying himself away from the helpful strangers, he dives through the first door he can find.

The silence is so sudden it makes his head spin. The air outside is dense with panic and desperation, but in here everything is still. It takes him a moment to recognize it, but when he does his heart twists strangely in his chest.

He's in the third class dining saloon. The stage is empty now, the bandstand vacant. The tables are already set for breakfast, cutlery and china lined up in neat little rows. He's just come in, he realizes, through the door he and Yuuri slipped out of just-

God. It's barely been more than twenty-four hours.

Last night he stood here laughing, fingers tangled with Yuuri's, so sure his life had finally changed for the better. Now…

As he stares at the empty stage, the Titanic groans and lists again. The slope is more severe this time, and Victor watches in a kind of petrified fascination as the carefully-arranged table settings begin to slide. The silverware falls first, then the plates, and suddenly the silent room is filled with the sound of shattering china.

The noise shakes Victor from his stupor, lights a fire under his feet. The incline may be noticeable but it's not extreme, and he makes his way through the minefield of broken ceramics to a door on the far end. This one leads to a long, unfamiliar corridor. He starts down it at a run.

Stairs, he thinks. Yuuri is on the deck above him. He needs to go up. Of course, it's a very large ship. A distant part of Victor's mind wonders if they'll even be able to find each other in the crush of terrified passengers. But the thought is fleeting at best. Inconsequential.

That's not how this story ends, he thinks stubbornly.

At that moment, Victor hears a deafening roar. He glances over his shoulder just in time to see a wall of water rushing up the corridor toward him, churning waves of white splashing out like grasping fingers.

He runs. He isn't fast enough.

* * *

Yuuri has never run so fast in his life. Third class saloon, he thinks. Victor would be near the third class saloon. And it wouldn't take long for the water to reach him there, not if it's already flooded the crew quarters and the berths. He darts down an aft stair, nearly skidding on the rails as he tears down abandoned hallway after abandoned hallway. This ship is a maze, and it's a miracle he spent so much time memorizing the map to hide from Phichit.

He whips by the Parisian cafe and the second class smoking room. He cuts through the library where he and Victor were curled up in each other's arms just an hour ago, and doesn't stop even when he hears someone shouting that he's going the wrong way.

In his frantic dash through the ship, Yuuri sees a few things that stand out to him. In the library an old man is sitting in a leather armchair, his fingers curled around the cover of a closed book. As he rushes by the second class staterooms, he hears a gramophone playing behind a closed door.

How many of these passengers, he wonders in a disconnected way, have resigned themselves completely to this? How many of them have already given up?

Then he thinks, I would have been one of them once. A minute ago, I was ready to die.

He slips a little on another staircase, and decides that thinking can wait.

* * *

Victor's world is a rush of noise and movement. The cold is piercing, numbing, and it makes coming to his senses all the more difficult as his body is tossed and dragged along by the rush of the water around him. His lungs burn, but when he opens his mouth the only thing he pulls in is water. The cold and the salt gag him, and he barely has the presence of mind to close his mouth hard against the choking.

Something brushes his hand and he grabs it on instinct, fingers closing tightly around something hard and cylindrical. Once he has both hands around it he pulls desperately, dragging his head above the surface and coughing up as much of the briny water as he can.

Victor glances at his hands and realizes they're wrapped around a piece of whitewashed tubing bolted to the ceiling of the corridor. The water is still rushing by, buffeting his body and leaving only maybe two feet of air.

And that, Victor thinks grimly, won't last long. The water is going to keep rising, and if he doesn't find the stairs soon he'll be trapped.

Luckily the ceiling is crisscrossed with tubing-electrical, maybe, or plumbing-and it's a fairly simple matter to hand-over-hand his way along. The current works with him, pushing him forward as he does his best to ignore the way he can only barely feel his legs.

Once or twice he loses his grip, and when he does the world spins sickeningly. But he always manages to find the pipes again, hands wet and trembling, knuckles whiter than the paint under his fingers. He doesn't stop, even as his breathing turns to harsh little gasps and his heart stutters in his chest.

Very slowly, the gap between the ceiling and the surface of the water begins to shrink.

* * *

The halls are starting to bleed into one another, and Yuuri can't remember which ones lead where. The mental map he's built of the ship over the last few days is faded and fuzzy, crystal recall dulled by panic, and he takes several wrong turns before he finds the staircase he's looking for. He's halfway down it when he realizes the bottom is submerged in rushing water.

Yuuri is about to turn around and find another way down when he hears someone coughing, the sound indisputably coming from the corridor below. He only hesitates for a moment before wading in, holding onto the stair rail to steady himself against the current as he cranes his neck to the left and looks down the hallway that crosses the bottom of the stairs.

What he sees knocks the breath out of him in a rush.

"Victor?" he shouts, and the man looks up sharply to reveal that, yes, by some miracle Victor is the one clinging to some electrical tubing about twenty feet away.

"Yuuri," he calls back, an exhausted grin splitting his face. His fingers slip a little and Yuuri tenses as he watches Victor scrabble for purchase. He's holding himself close to the pipes, only about ten inches of air between the ceiling and the rushing water.

"I'll come to you," Yuuri says, and takes another step.

"No!" Victor shouts, and nearly slips again. "The water's too fast, and it's flowing the wrong way. You'll be swept down the hall."

"All right," Yuuri says, trying to think. "Then... Then you come to me."

Victor chews his lip. "The tubing ends here. There's nothing to hold onto. If I let go- The current is strong. I don't think I'll be able to stop."

Frowning, Yuuri inches a little closer to the bottom of the stairs. He hooks one arm around the stair rail, then leans out into the corridor.

Victor is right. The current is fast, nearly slamming Yuuri back against the wall before he manages to brace himself properly. He considers for a long moment, then…

"I'll catch you."

It's a little hard to see Victor's expression, but he looks surprised. Then he nods, just once, sharply.

"All right," he says, his voice strained. He only has about six inches of breathing space left. "I trust you."

The words should frighten Yuuri. They should make him cringe back, shake his head, deny this terrifying new responsibility. Instead they put iron in his bones, they make his eyes sharper, they fill his lungs with a fortifying breath.

"Now!" he barks, and Victor lets go of the tubing. The current catches him immediately, dragging him under before sweeping him down the hall toward the stairs. Yuuri leans out as far as he can, hand outstretched, waiting for his moment.

On the first grab, his fingers close around water. His heart leaps into his chest, but his hand snaps out again and this time, this time he feels fabric under his fingers. His grip tightens, and he and Victor are both slammed back against the wall of the corridor. It's jarring, but Yuuri's hand on the rail is iron and soon Victor is clasping his arm, head above water and gasping for breath, and Yuuri snarls with effort as he pulls himself and Victor up onto the stairs.

They collapse, boneless, on the steps as the water rushes over their calves. Both of them are wheezing, shaking, eyes wide and hearts thundering in their chests.

And, for the moment, both of them are alive.

* * *

 **Notes:** There were many "failsafes" in place designed specifically to prevent the Titanic from sinking. The fact that so many of them failed so badly is a constant source of debate among Titanic scholars to this day. The reason the water rose so fast, for example, sprang from a flaw in the design of the watertight doors. They were only truly watertight horizontally, so when the ship began to list and the water rose over them the flooding got completely out of control. This was the reason for the infamous "vertical sinking" of the Titanic. She could have stayed afloat with four of these chambers completely flooded-unfortunately, when the initial breach occurred, the flooding spread to six.

 **Notes (cont'd):** Leapinglisa has, yet again, completely blown me away with her beautiful art for this chapter. You can find two pictures of the hallway scene by copy/pasting these addresses (delete the spaces and replace "dot" with "."):

leapinglisa dot tumblr dot com/ post/ 160693668692/ more-artwork-for-the-lovely-terraincognitas-fic


	19. The Plunge

**Summary:** There comes a time-and it is always too soon-when one must take a leap of faith.

* * *

It takes Victor several minutes to catch his breath. He pulls his feet out of the frigid water, shuddering a little when he notices the stiffness in his joints. His arms ache from clutching mindlessly at the pipes, and the rest of him aches on principle.

"Yuuri-" he starts, but doesn't get to finish.

"Shut up," Yuuri snaps, eyes still squeezed shut behind glasses that are dotted with drops of water, "What the hell is wrong with you?" He opens his eyes then, sits up. Victor mirrors him, bewilderment swimming through his scattered thoughts.

Yuuri doesn't wait for him to answer. "Who jumps onto a sinking ship? Victor, if- If the water had risen a little more, if I'd been a little slower or- or I hadn't come to these stairs, you-"

Victor thinks it's anger, at first. He's familiar with anger, knows how to deal with it, but when he meets Yuuri's eyes he sees tears in them. Fear, he realizes. Fear and desperation, but no anger. So he lets Yuuri stutter out a few more frantic what-ifs, lets him punch weakly at his shoulder. Then he gathers the younger man into his arms and holds on.

Yuuri sags against him like a ragdoll, his panic dropping out of him all at once. Then Victor feels him take three deep, slow breaths.

When Yuuri sits up, his jaw is set. He grabs Victor's hand, pulls both of them to their feet.

"We can't stay here," he says, glancing down at the rushing water. It's closer now than it was. The hallway Victor had been trapped in just moments ago is completely submerged.

Victor nods, his hand tightening around Yuuri's. Now that he's found him he has no intention of letting go-not now, not ever-and he manages a tense little smile. "At least we know which way to go."

He's stating the obvious. The angle of the hall is getting steeper by the minute, and it's clear that the ship is going to sink prow-first. Yuuri, nodding stiffly, sets off up the slope. Behind them the last lights in the submerged hallway fizzle, and go out.

The sound of rushing water grows louder, and by some unspoken agreement they start to run. Neither of them look back. Neither of them need to. The water crashes into the backs of their knees, nearly knocking them off their feet. Victor staggers a little, but Yuuri reaches out to steady him and soon they're moving again, feet splashing as they dash along the empty corridor.

They're above the third class gates now, whipping past the empty second class state rooms. It's only when they've managed to put some distance between themselves and the rising water that they hear the noise. When they do, they freeze in their tracks.

It's terrible. Like one long, howling scream taken up by a thousand voices. It must be at least a deck above them, but it's so loud that it sounds much closer. If there is a hell, Victor thinks, feeling sick, this is what it sounds like. Terror, distilled.

Soon Yuuri is tugging on his hand again. "No time," he says sharply, and Victor stumbles after him.

Moving toward the noise goes against every survival instinct in Victor's body, but he would follow Yuuri anywhere. They stumble out onto the deck, and the sound is deafening. It crests over Victor like a wave, and if it weren't for Yuuri's firm grip on his hand he's certain it would sweep him out to sea.

He presses closer, afraid of losing his lover to the crush of bodies around them. They pass a weeping boy, a man kneeling in prayer. Most of them, Victor notes with another wave of nausea, are steerage passengers. People who were trapped below decks while the first class passengers complained about things like crowded lifeboats and catching chills and leaving their valuables behind. People with nothing but their lives to lose.

People like Yuuri.

Suddenly the chaos is interrupted by the strangest pocket of peace, and both Victor and Yuuri hesitate when they reach it. Victor looks for the source, and his eyes alight on eight well-dressed men standing apart from the rest of the passengers. Their expressions are drawn, but he recognizes them.

The ship's musicians. He's listened to them play. They were playing the night Yuuri joined him in the first class dining saloon… and they're playing even now.

The notes that float out of the eight assembled instruments shouldn't travel. They shouldn't be so clearly heard over the din surrounding them. But somehow, once heard, they ring out louder than any of the terrified and desperate sounds that should subsume them.

The song is low and sweet, familiar. Victor realizes he's played it before, on the piano in his parents' parlor. Years ago. He was six. His mother was answering her correspondence nearby. She was humming along, something she rarely did. And his father smiled…

Yuuri is warm at his side, and only the knowledge that this might change very soon tears Victor out of the memory. He pulls his lover to the railing, casting his eyes up and down the length of the deck.

"No more lifeboats," he says grimly.

Yuuri nods. "They must've all been launched." He squints into the darkness. "And they've pulled back, too. They're pretty far-" Yuuri stops himself short, and Victor glances at him sharply.

"What is it?" he asks, already regretting the question.

"They're… They're keeping away. They know most of us will end up in the water, they… They think we'll overturn the boats."

"God knows I would," a man's voice says brusquely. Victor whirls around to see a crewman smoking a cigarette and leaning against the rail a few feet away. He's glaring at the boats, and when he takes the cigarette out of his mouth he spits in their direction. "Cowards," he mutters under his breath. Then he glances over at Victor and Yuuri and blinks. "Where're your lifebelts?"

Uncertain how to answer, Victor shrugs for both of them. The man grunts, shoving two unclaimed lifebelts at them. "Most everyone has theirs already. A few're too beside themselves to put 'em on, not that I blame 'em." He takes another long drag.

"What should we-" Victor's question is cut off as the ship gives an agonizing groan. He grabs the rail hard, dragging Yuuri against it as the deck tips alarmingly. They can do nothing but watch in horrified fascination as the stern of the ship rises completely out of the water.

"Oh god," Yuuri gasps, his voice raw with fear. "It's about to go under!"

"If you want my advice," the crewman says, cigarette lost in the sudden shift. He's got one arm twined through the bars of the railing, keeping himself secure. "You'll jump. When she goes, she'll drag anyone who's too close. You'll be halfway to the seafloor before your lifebelt does you any good."

Yuuri looks up at Victor, and Victor can do nothing but nod once, sharply. They waste precious minutes fumbling with one another's lifebelts, making certain they're secure. Then the ship lists again.

If they hadn't been holding the rail, Victor realizes through the thick taste of adrenaline, they would have fallen. The ship is almost vertical now, and he closes his eyes tightly as bodies hurtle past from further up the deck. A few slam sickeningly into support struts, others plunging deep into the water below.

"Ready?" Victor shouts over the sound of the metal hull screaming its protest.

"No," Yuuri shouts back, but his eyes are hard. They grip one another tightly, and let go of the rail.

They're lucky, Victor knows. For them, the fall is short. It's only an instant before they're breaking the surface, icy water closing over their heads for a fleeting moment before their lifebelts drag them back up. They lose each other's hands briefly, and when Victor sucks in his first breath he's already looking around frantically for Yuuri.

A viselike hand closes around his forearm, and it would panic him if the shape of it weren't so familiar. He almost faints with relief.

Yuuri is already pulling on him. "Swim!" he shouts, and Victor works hard to make his aching limbs move. There are people all around them, some swimming for their lives and others-

Victor tries not to look at the others. The fall wasn't so short, for some.

Something-some firing impulse-makes Victor turn his head, and he doesn't think he'll ever forget what he sees. The Titanic sticks up out of the water like the hilt of a knife, tall and proud even in her hour of greatest defeat. For one last moment the lights shine defiantly, then they flicker once…

And go out.

Suddenly they're plunged into near-absolute darkness. Victor only knows the ship is there because of its tall, black silhouette against the stars.

Then there's the sound of screaming metal, and a piece of that silhouette breaks off. Victor bellows, kicking his feet out hard as the forward funnel begins to fall. Yuuri is right beside him, swimming desperately, and when the massive piece of engineering crashes into the water just behind them they're both picked up by the wave it generates.

They almost lose each other again, but this time they manage to keep their grip. When they surface, the water behind them is just a little quieter.

Victor's heart stutters when he realizes why.

He doesn't let himself think about it. "We have to get-"

Another shriek of agonized metal. Too loud to be another stack. Victor and Yuuri turn, and this time their eyes have adjusted. This time they can see clearly what's happening.

The Titanic is splitting.

The deck is splintering, metal and wood tearing like paper as the massive weight of the Titanic's prow finally becomes too much for her to bear. The sound is incredible, ear-splitting, rising even over the screams of the people in the water.

Then it's over. The prow vanishes silently into the watery depths below.

For one brief, terrifying moment the stern is an obelisk of black against the starry sky. Then it plunges into the sea.

The Titanic is gone.

* * *

 **Notes:** The eight musicians who played Nearer My God to Thee as the Titanic sank were real people, who deserve and have received a lot of recognition over the years. They were eight young men, the members of two separate ensembles hired to play in the dining saloons and cafes boasted by the Titanic, all between the ages of 20 and 33. When the ship foundered and began to sink, they continued playing in an attempt to maintain calm and to soothe the frightened passengers on board.

Their names were Theodore Ronald Brailey, Roger Marie Bricoux, John Frederick Preston Clarke, Wallace Hartley, John Law Hume, Georges Alexandre Krins, Percy Cornelius Taylor, and John Wesley Woodward.


	20. Sink or Swim

**Summary:** The heart is the strongest muscle in the human body, and even that was built to break.

* * *

The water, Yuuri is beginning to realize, is much more dangerous than the sinking ship. His teeth chatter so hard that he worries his skull will shake apart, and beside him Victor isn't faring much better. The water is full of people, screaming to the boats for help or just floating in stunned silence as they stare at the place where the Titanic used to be.

Many are already dead. In the dark, it's difficult to tell which ones.

"Victor," he says, and his voice almost doesn't waver. "We- We have to get you out of this water, c-come on-"

But Victor is already moving, already dragging at Yuuri's hand. "There," he says, and he's so cold his voice is rasping. "Come on, I see something…"

Sure enough, Victor pulls him out of the press of bodies and toward a black shape in the water. When they reach it their fingers scrabble against smooth wood, black and thick and sturdy, and Yuuri's heart stutters when he realizes what it is.

It's the lid of a grand piano.

Victor doesn't give him time to think about it, already pushing him up and out of the water. But he shakes Victor's hands loose.

"No," he gasps out. "It won't hold us both. You were already half-drowned once today, listen-" Victor is shaking his head, but Yuuri plows on. "I'll last longer in the water than you will, please, just get on!"

Victor glares at him for a long, silent moment, but Yuuri sets his jaw and doesn't back down. Finally Victor lets out a huff of breath.

"Fine," he hisses, and Yuuri helps him clamber onto the piano lid. It dips dangerously, but after a moment it settles with Victor safely balanced on top.

Yuuri kicks until he's holding onto the edge of the lid, just next to Victor's shaking hands. They twine their fingers together, neither one speaking, conserving breath that has suddenly become desperately valuable.

Behind them, the ocean is a little quieter than before. They don't look back.

* * *

"What do you mean, you won't go?!"

The crewman clutches his oar a little more tightly, refusing to meet the snarling boy's eyes. "If the boat is swamped," he explains again, voice shaking as he raises it over the chaotic pleas of the drowning passengers some distance away, "We'll lose those we've already saved. We can't-"

"Horseshit," Lilia snaps. Yurio looks up at her, startled. "Empty a boat, there's plenty half-empty already! Can't you hear that?"

The crewman quivers slightly. He can.

"You have to go back!" Yurio is desperate. His hands shake. "Yuuri and Victor- They- You have to!"

"What?" Someone stands up in one of the nearby boats. "What about Victor?"

Someone else stands up next to him. "Yurio? Is that you? Where-"

"Phichit!" Yurio shouts, grabbing at the side of the boat. "Yuuri- Yuuri's back there somewhere, and they won't- They won't-"

Suddenly the air is full of arguing, Chris and Phichit and Yurio and the crew all shouting over each other to be heard. Phichit looks like he's ready to hijack a boat himself and Chris is making violent gestures with hands that have never held anything more threatening than a pool cue.

"ENOUGH!"

They all go silent, turning wide eyes on Lilia. She's taken an oar from one of the crewmen, and she pounds it against the side of a nearby boat for emphasis. "You're all wasting time," she snaps. "You!" She points to the crewman whose oar she's confiscated. "Get the passengers from this boat into that one. There are only twenty people in it, there's plenty of room. And you two, if you've got the energy to shout you've got the energy to help! Hop to it!"

Chris and Phichit jump into action as though she's pressed a hidden switch. They drag the two boats together and begin handing passengers across, emptying the boat containing Yurio and Lilia almost completely. It's happens quickly, but to Yurio each moment feels like a year.

Finally, when it's only two crewmen and a handful of passengers left, Lilia nods. Just once, like a general calling the charge.

"Right," she says, shoving the oar back into the crewman's trembling hands. "Earn your salary."

* * *

Around Victor and Yuuri, the water has grown very still. Victor's breath comes in harsh little gasps, his teeth no longer chattering simply because he doesn't have the energy. In his hair, frost forms like fine lace.

In the water, Yuuri is faring much worse.

His lips are nearly blue, eyes half-closed, fingers icy in Victor's. He barely moves.

"Yuuri," Victor whispers, though it hurts to speak. "Yuuri stay with me. Stay awake."

"I'm… awake," Yuuri murmurs, blinking slowly. "I'm all right. Just… tired."

"That's because you're f- freezing," Victor grits out. "Switch with me, just-"

"No." The protest is quiet, but firm. "I already… told you. You need it more- more than I do."

"Are you always this st-stubborn?" Victor asks, and Yuuri chuckles in spite of the dire situation.

"Yeah," he answers. "Always. My sister h… hates it."

"Tell me about her," Victor demands, desperate to keep Yuuri talking.

"About M-Mari?" Yuuri frowns. A bit of ice cracks at the corner of his mouth. His eyes unfocus slightly, and Victor jostles their clasped hands.

"Yes. T-Tell me about Mari."

"She's quiet," Yuuri says, shaking his head slowly. "She's, um. She's funny. You'd-" He coughs, then winces. "You'd l-like her."

"I will," Victor corrects him, the words coming out in a rush. "You're going to int… introduce me, right? When we- When we get to N-New York."

Yuuri's eyes slide away from him, but Victor reaches out to cup his cheek with trembling fingers. Forces him to meet his gaze.

"…Right," Yuuri says, his voice shaking. "When… When we get to New York."

"I'll introduce you to M-Makkachin," Victor says, still talking a little too fast. "You'll- You'll like her, she's my, my poodle. She's a- She's a good d-dog, even if she does j- jump up too much. Mother never l-liked her jumping up but- but she-"

"Victor."

He could pretend he hasn't heard. Yuuri's voice is so quiet, barely more than a breath against his ear, he could just keep rambling until his tongue freezes. But he doesn't. He lets the words die on his lips, he goes still. For the first time in his life he does nothing but listen.

"You have to…" Yuuri's eyes are definitely unfocused now. There are icicles forming in his lashes. "You have to p- promise me s-something. Victor." He pauses, breath rasping between his lips. "Promise… Promise me you'll. You'll find the c-color again."

For a moment Victor doesn't know what he means. Then he remembers Yuuri's words in the cargo hold, a thousand years ago. 'But I always find the color again. Eventually.'

He wants to refuse. He wants to scream at Yuuri that without him, the colors will never come back. That he'll be lost in a world of shifting gray forever, a sea even colder than this one.

Instead he just tightens his fingers around Yuuri's.

"I will," he says, and his voice doesn't tremble. "And so will you."

Yuuri lets out a sound that's almost a laugh. Then he leans down, presses his icy lips to Victor's fingers…

And goes still.

* * *

In the lab, the silence is absolute. No one moves, or speaks, or breathes. Someone is crying, but their shoulders shake noiselessly as the tears fall. Victor's words hang in the air like frozen raindrops, delicate and sad.

Otabek's voice, when he speaks, is barely more than a murmur.

"I'm so sorry," he says. And Yurio looks up at him with startled eyes.

"You-"

A low vibrating interrupts the fragile moment. "Excuse me," Victor says, holding up an apologetic hand. He fishes his cell phone out of his pocket, presses it to his ear.

"Yes, Лучик?"

He listens for a moment, then shakes his head absently. "No. No, I left them in my pocket I believe… The camel coat. Yes."

Victor smiles. Makes a tender sound that seems almost too private. "Soon. We're almost finished here, I think."

His smile widens, and his eyes sparkle. "I love you too, Yuuri. Goodbye."

Victor slips his phone back into his pocket, then glances up to meet at least twenty sets of wide eyes. Otabek isn't ashamed to admit that even he is gawking.

"Where was I…?" Victor muses, tapping his chin. Then he smiles. "Ah yes. You were assuming I left the love of my life to die in the middle of the Atlantic."

* * *

"No," Victor snaps, shaking Yuuri's hands until his eyes flutter open. "No. Not now. Not when we've made it this far." Without waiting for Yuuri's protests, he slides off of the piano lid. Every muscle in his body screams protest, but he ignores them. "Up," he hisses, pushing with what little strength he has left. "Get on, God damn you!"

Yuuri has no strength to help, but the water makes him light. Victor manages to slide him up onto the piano lid, where he lays panting raggedly at the distant stars. His eyes are wide, still a little distant, but he's definitely alive.

"Victor," he says, his voice weak, but Victor isn't listening anymore. Because another sound rises over the water, piercing and loud and long.

A whistle. Distant at first, but getting closer. Blown again and again, by desperate lips. And then two voices shouting, repeating the same names.

"Victor!" Chris's voice calls again, joined by Phichit's. "Yuuri!"

Victor tries to call back but his voice is little more than a croak. Instead he pounds his hand against the piano lid, the concussive noise traveling much further than his whispering rasps ever could. Soon one flashlight, then two, are swiveling toward him.

He's never been so happy to be the center of attention.

The lifeboat-and it's definitely a lifeboat-turns, oars splashing faster now. Victor is too weak to grab the side but several sets of hands reach out, wrap around his arms, drag him up and out of the water. "Yuuri," he gasps, struggling weakly, but in the next moment Yuuri is being lifted out as well. Chris and one of the crewmen lay the two of them down in the bottom of the boat, and they're barely out of the water before a tiny blonde blur slams into them hard enough to jostle a gasp out of Yuuri.

It's Yurio. He's crying, eyes red and shoulders shaking as he buries his face in Victor's shoulder and grips Yuuri so hard his knuckles go white. And clutched in one small hand is a little silver whistle.

"You're alive," Yurio gasps between sobs as Chris and Phichit wrap the three of them in layer upon layer of blankets. "You're alive, you're alive-"

Yuuri, still groggy with the cold, lifts a slow hand to rub Yurio's back in shaky circles. He doesn't speak.

Victor, who has a little more strength left, gathers both of them against his chest and buries his face in Yurio's golden hair.

"Yes," he whispers. It's all he can think to say. "Yes."

* * *

 **Notes:** Of the twenty lifeboats launched during the Titanic disaster, only two returned to search for survivors.

 **Notes cont'd:** To see leapinglisa's adorable fanart of the last scene in this chapter, copy/paste the following address (delete spaces and replace "dot" with "."):

leapinglisa dot tumblr dot com/ post/ 161194593269/ the-second-to-the-last-piece-of-art-i-did-for


	21. Journey's End

**Summary:** Even tragedy can't stop the world from turning. And it shouldn't.

* * *

It seems strange, Yuuri thinks distantly, that the world should be so quiet now. Even before the Titanic began to sink, every still moment was filled with the noise of engines or the distant chatter of the other passengers.

No one is speaking now.

Victor's arms tighten around him, and Yuuri curls weakly into the embrace. Yurio makes a small, soft sound in his sleep.

Yuuri isn't sure how long it's been. An hour, he thinks. Maybe more. Above him the stars are growing brighter as the thin fog lifts. He wants to think they're beautiful, but can't quite muster the energy. Then his gaze flickers to Victor, eyes closed, wet hair a mess across his forehead, cheeks just starting to regain their flush.

He trails his fingers across that faint bloom of pink. Find the color, he thinks.

Yuuri smiles.

Help is slow in coming but, inevitably, it comes. The RMS Carapathia is a much smaller ship than her drowned cousin, but she's been at full steam for three and a half hours trying to reach them. Soon ladders are being thrown down and the Titanic's bedraggled survivors are pulled aboard by warm hands.

When it's their turn, Yuuri can barely grip the ladder. Victor lurches forward to help, but Chris pushes him back with a firm but gentle hand. "No," he says, his tone brooking no argument. "You're almost as bad off. I'll help him."

It's slow and it's awkward, but worth it when-a handful of agonizing minutes later-Victor joins him on deck with Yurio slung across his shoulders. Phichit and Chris fuss over them a bit more, soon joined by Lilia. She's towing a listless Sara Crispino, and Yuuri's heart sinks when he realizes that her brother isn't accompanying them.

No one asks after Michele. They don't need to. Sara's silence is answer enough.

It takes three days for them to reach New York, and accommodations are awkward. Still, the crew is friendly and there are one or two happy reunions. Yuuri catches Victor grinning when he sees Ez, the girl they'd passed belowdecks who'd been so worried about being seen in her lifebelt, running full-tilt into the arms of a young man who can't be anyone but Jason.

Admittedly, Yuuri is smiling too. Especially when Jason grabs his chance and proposes to Ez on the spot.

Mostly though, the days are spent quietly. There's a kind of peace to this, and Yuuri treasures it. He tries very hard not to let New York eat away at this little happiness.

After all, New York will be heavy with goodbyes. Chris will be off to reclaim his title as the most sought-after socialite of the season, Phichit will be looking for employment in the field of photography. And Victor will leave to take on his parents' estate.

It's not exactly a surprise. Yuuri has known from the beginning that this can't last, that Victor lives in a different world. Yuuri knows that he can't keep him. All he can do is love him, and oh God he does, but it isn't enough. Soon New York will sweep him away, and Yuuri will be alone again.

Not alone, he reasons. He'll have Mari. And maybe… maybe Victor will visit. Once in a while. That would be… That would be nice.

He pulls in a deep breath. Lets it out. Chuckles when Victor makes a rather weak joke about the captain's hat.

They're standing by the rail, watching the horizon for Lady Liberty. The crew is running a census, taking down the names of all the survivors so that their relatives can be notified when they reach port. Victor has one arm around Yuuri's waist, the other hand resting easily on Yurio's shoulder.

It's perfect. Or, it's perfect until a crewman coughs behind them. Yuuri turns, and sees the clipboard in the man's hands.

"Pardon the interruption," he says, smiling pleasantly. "May I just have your names, please?"

"Oh," Yuuri exclaims. Right. The census. "Of course. Yuuri Katsuki."

"Right." The man takes down his name, fumbling a little over the spelling. Yuuri corrects him helpfully, then the man turns to Victor.

"And your name, sir?"

Victor hesitates, and when Yuuri looks up Victor is staring straight at him. He doesn't look away as he says, "Victor Katsuki."

Yuuri's face goes slack. He can't have just… He must have misspoken, and Yuuri almost corrects him but-

"The same spelling as this gentleman, I presume?"

"Of course."

"Right. Relation?"

Then Victor is looking at him, and there's a question in his eyes. This is insane, Yuuri thinks, Victor doesn't know what he's doing, can't possibly mean this, but his eyes are as sure as they were when they'd waded into that flooded corridor to find Yurio. As sure as they were when they'd jumped together into the freezing water, and Yuuri thinks, I trust this man with my life.

He tangles his fingers with Victor's and says, "Husband."

"Of course," the crewman says, then smiles down at Yurio. The boy is ignoring them completely, eyes fixed on the horizon he's been promised will soon boast New York's impressive skyline. "And this is your son?"

"Yes," Yuuri answers easily. "Yuri Katsuki."

Victor fails to suppress a smile, his eyes never leaving Yuuri's. "Junior," he adds.

The man nods, jotting the name down and thanking them for their time. Then he's gone.

"You do realize," Yuuri say, a hesitant smile growing on his own lips, "That you've just married me."

Victor's smile turns into a full-blown grin. He leans forward and murmurs, sweet and low in Yuuri's ear,

"I do."

Yuuri can't help himself. He drags Victor into a kiss so clumsy it has both of them laughing against each other's lips. It's not a conventional wedding, Yuuri thinks distantly, but he wouldn't trade it for anything.

Then Yurio is tugging at their sleeves. "Look!" he shouts. "Look, there!"

Yuuri turns obediently to see what Yurio is pointing at.

"Oh," he whispers. Beside him, Victor hums in agreement.

Because there she is. Lady Liberty, torch held high. And behind her, New York City sprawls like a fairytale castle of glass and steel. A new world.

Victor wraps his arm around Yuuri's shoulders, and Yuuri glances up to meet his gaze. Between them, Yurio bounces slightly on the balls of his feet.

Yes, Yuuri thinks. A new world.

* * *

 **Notes:** The RMS Carapathia arrived at the wreck site at 4:00 AM, having received a distress call some hours earlier and turned at full speed to come to the Titanic's aid. They brought 705 survivors onboard in a rescue that took five hours, the crew working tirelessly until every lifeboat was empty. For their valor, the survivors later awarded their rescuers medals: bronze for the crew, silver for the officers, and a silver cup and gold medal for Captain Arthur Henry Rostron.


	22. Epilogue: A New World

That night, Otabek can't sleep. He tosses and turns, frowning into his pillow as he squints at the digital clock on his nightstand.

2:35 AM. Right.

Hauling himself out of his bunk, Otabek flicks on the light and rummages for a clean shirt. If he can't sleep he might as well get some work done.

The ship is quiet as he pads out into the corridor. Most of the researchers keep pretty regular hours, early to bed and early to rise. Yurio and Victor retired to their borrowed quarters not long after the end of the story, Victor smiling as he apologized for his old bones.

"Can't stay up all night anymore," he said. "Not like you young people."

Otabek yawns as he shoulders the door open, stepping onto the deck and shivering when the cold sea breeze tousles his hair. He shrugs his jacket on a little tighter, then goes very still.

Because a little ways down the deck, Victor and Yurio are watching the ocean side-by-side. Victor is holding something in his hand, reaching out to drop it, and as the lights from the research vessel glint off of it Otabek realizes what it is.

"No!" he shouts on instinct, lurching forward, and Yurio whips around to glare at him with narrow eyes.

"Stay where you are," Yurio snaps, but beside him Victor turns more slowly. He's smiling, a little rueful.

"It's all right Yurio," he says. Then he beckons Otabek closer. "Come on, then."

Otabek stumbles toward them, eyes fixed on the gleaming bauble in Victor's hand. He can't seem to look away.

"You had it," he whispers hoarsely. "You had it the whole time."

"Yes," Victor answers. "It was in my pocket that night. I never really put it in the safe. It wasn't valuable to me."

Otabek's eyes flick up to meet Victor's. He expects some kind of smug satisfaction-after all, this man fooled an entire team of qualified researchers-but all he finds there is kind understanding. "And the photograph?"

Victor chuckles. "You know, it's funny. Phichit gave it to me at dinner, the night the ship sank. It was the first picture anyone had ever taken of me smiling when I really meant it. Somehow that just seemed to matter more than a silly old stone."

"Please," Otabek says, hating the tremor in his voice. "Please, I've been hunting that necklace for so long. Just…" He swallows. "Just let me look at it."

Victor hesitates, then gives a slow nod. Yurio watches them with cautious eyes as Victor extends his hand, letting the diamond-studded chain slither into Otabek's outstretched palm.

Then it's there. In his hand, gleaming in the starlight. An enormous blue heart-shaped stone. The Nikiforov diamond.

"…You're going to throw it overboard," he says quietly, fingers curling around it.

"Yes," Victor answers, his voice even.

"Why?"

Victor holds out his hand, and for a moment Otabek considers keeping it. He could close his fingers a little tighter, turn away-

The pendant drops into Victor's waiting palm. Otabek still can't seem to tear his eyes off it. Victor turns back to the rail, heaving a long sigh.

"Victor Nikiforov," he says slowly, "Died many years ago. Right here." He indicates the waves lapping at the hull of the research vessel where it floats 12,500 feet above the remains of the Titanic. "This diamond was his birthright. Not mine. I'm just here to return it."

Otabek's throat feels dry.

"Mr. Altin," Victor says, his voice low. "Do you want it?"

"Yes."

"More than anything?"

He opens his mouth to answer, but a sudden wind tosses Yurio's hair and Otabek's eyes are finally torn away from the necklace. Beside Victor Yurio is watching him with an unreadable expression, eyes sharp, waiting for his answer.

"…No."

Otabek can hear the smile in Victor's voice.

"Good," he says softly, and Otabek almost doesn't register the gentle plop as the necklace falls from his worn fingers, disappearing into the black water below.

Otabek knows that it took the Titanic about seven minutes to reach the ocean floor when she finally sank. It will take the little necklace much longer, buffeted by currents all the way down. There's no way of knowing exactly where it will land, a thousand variables-from prevailing tides to deep-sea fish-making even approximation impossible.

Otabek knows that it doesn't matter.

* * *

Years ago and miles away in a little apartment in New York City, Victor, Yuuri, and Yurio make a home.

They have money. Victor's family, it turns out, employs a few very cunning lawyers and accountants. Officially Victor Nikiforov may have been lost at sea, but several months of careful siphoning are enough to keep the three of them more than comfortable.

The apartment isn't big-just enough space for the three of them, and Makkachin. No marble floors or delicate chandeliers. It's still a bit rich for Yuuri's blood, and he says so, but Victor just smiles and tells him to throw out anything he doesn't like. Yuuri snorts, but never takes him up on it.

* * *

Victor's funeral is a very grand affair, well-attended by the most elegant socialites of the season and-secretly-by Victor himself. It's all very moving, he tells Yuuri later. Christophe, with his usual flair for drama, actually flings himself down on the empty casket.

"It should have been me!" he wails to the rafters of the church as the priest tries to console him. "Oh! He was too young and beautiful to die!"

Victor stifles a laugh, and when the woman next to him gives him a sharp look he tries to disguise it as a sniffle.

* * *

Yuuri opens a ballet studio. Yurio is his first student, and before long he's one of the most sought-after ballet instructors in New York City. He asks Lilia once if she has anything to do with this, but she just sniffs.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean. I can't be expected to remember every little thing I tell my social circle."

Yuuri smiles, and pours her another cup of tea.

* * *

Victor is only recognized once, in Central Park while he's walking Makkachin. He's seen by a friend of his late parents, the one who suggested he book passage on the Titanic to begin with. The White Star Line, he said, was the finest in the business. He owned shares.

When he sees Victor, his eyes go wide with recognition. He takes a step forward, and Victor panics. So he does the only thing he can think to do.

Keeping his expression blank, he lifts a finger to point accusingly across the crowd. Then, when a group of tourists passes between them, he ducks behind a stand of trees.

The man goes very pale very quickly, then runs like the Devil is at his heels. Victor hears later that he's been committed to a mental institution, and he does feel a little bad about this.

* * *

Yurio attends a good school. He doesn't like it at first. The other boys are painfully stuck-up ("Born with silver spoons up their asses," he tells Victor once, and Victor bursts into peals of laughter while Yuuri tries his best to look scandalized), and they look down on him.

It all comes to a head one day when an older boy sees him unwrapping the boxed lunch Yuuri never fails to tuck into his school bag. The boy wrinkles his nose at the sight of it.

"What kind of food is that?" he asks, sneering.

"It's Japanese," Yurio says coolly, already knowing where this conversation is headed.

It's headed, as it turns out, straight to the dean's office. And after that, straight home with a black eye and a note. Yurio is ready for any reaction-swearing, yelling, slamming doors-except the one he gets.

Because Victor and Yuuri look frightened. They see the bruise across his eye and go all soft and worried, gentle hands sitting him down on the settee and brushing his hair out of his face. Victor hands him a cold cloth and Yuuri fusses endlessly, ignoring the note clutched between Yurio's fingers.

"It doesn't matter," Victor says.

Yuuri adds, "What's important is that you're alright."

Yurio tries not to pick fights after that. A few pick him, but he learns to win them. He doesn't like it when his parents worry.

* * *

"I'm bored," Victor says one day, sprawled across their bed like the world's most elegant beached whale. Yuuri is sitting at the dressing table, scribbling down a few notes for his older students about their upcoming recital.

"Oh?"

"I have nothing to do." Sighing, Victor rolls onto his stomach and props his chin on one hand, watching Yuuri's back. "You teach, and Yurio goes to school. The apartment is so empty when you're away. It makes me want to scream."

Yuuri smiles at the letters on his desk. It's just like Victor, he thinks, to find fault with a life of leisure.

"You could get a job."

"Please." Victor snorts. "What skills could I possibly have to offer? Hello, I'm Victor Katsuki-" Yuuri ignores the little thrill that still goes through him whenever he hears that name. "-and I'm frightfully good at shuffleboard and making polite conversation."

"You play piano."

A noncommittal sound. "I suppose. But I can never quite convince myself to stick to the page."

Yuuri glances over his shoulder.

"So compose."

* * *

Months become years become decades, and the Nikiforov diamond sits-gathering dust-in a little box on Victor's dressing table.

Until, one day, Yuuri sees his husband's face on the news.

"Victor," he says softly, and Victor looks up.

"Oh," he murmurs, because suddenly the past is so real that his breath stutters just slightly.

Yuuri reaches out. Touches Victor's hand.

* * *

A few days later, Victor comes home. His step is a little lighter, his smile a little broader. Yuuri laughs as Victor puts on a record before pulling him up off of the settee.

"Careful," he says, grinning. "Your hip."

"Never mind my hip," Victor answers, tugging Yuuri close. "Dance with me."

Yuuri does. And no matter how many times they dance, cheek to cheek, eyes gleaming in the soft glow of the lamps, it always feels a little like the first time.

Years ago and miles away, in a crowded dining saloon, Victor and Yuuri spin and laugh and fall in love. They never really stop.

* * *

fin

* * *

 **Notes:** Wow! Check that out, I finished it. Honestly I didn't think that was gonna happen, but I guess we all surprise ourselves sometimes! Dull world if we didn't.

I wanted to take this opportunity to thank everyone for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos. I'm being serious when I say that if you hadn't, this fic would have died around chapter five. It means the world to me that you enjoy my work! Incidentally if you like my writing style and you're looking for more, please feel free to check out my other fics. I have a few Yuri on Ice pieces, some finished some not, and I'm hoping to debut a fun Beauty and the Beast AU some time in the next month or so.

A special thank you goes out to my good friends Lisa and Megan, who have created amazing art and put up with texts and calls at all hours when I was up plot creek without a paddle. You guys kept me going, you really did, and I'm more grateful than you know.

And finally, because I can't leave you without a little snippet of historical trivia, here is your Titanic fact of the day:

The sinking of the RMS Titanic was the single greatest maritime tragedy in human history to occur during peacetime. No other non-military sinking can claim a higher death toll. This is, perhaps, why we tell the story again and again in different words, because we are fascinated by the scope of the disaster. The public at the time was just as shaken, and the sinking was shortly followed by the very first international conference on the safety of life at sea. It was held in London, in January of 1914-less than two years after the Titanic set out from Southhampton on her first and final voyage.

If you ever find yourself on a cruise ship in the open ocean, ask about safety measures. The crew will tell you that they are required to perform frequent evacuation drills, that the upkeep and embarkation of every lifeboat is strictly regulated. They'll tell you that in the event of a shipboard emergency, every single passenger and crewmember is assured a seat in one of the lifeboats.

The Titanic was a terrible tragedy. But someday, it may save your life.

 **Notes cont'd:** To see some hilarious fanart for the epilogue by leapinglisa, copy/paste the following URL (delete spaces and replace "dot" with "."):

leapinglisa dot tumblr dot com/ post/ 161194655154/ and-the-final-piece-of-artwork-which-is-more-of-a


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